Warm Bodies
by Bubble Wrapped Kitty
Summary: In a world of the undead, N is different than all of the other Corpses. He wants to live and think and feel. So when he encounters the human girl Audrey and suddenly he feels the flickers of life for the first time since his death, he has to know more. Does something about her hold the key to a cure? Or is their forbidden friendship doomed to end in death?
1. Chapter 1

AN: Hello everyone, happy new year, and welcome to my newest Haven fic. This time I decided to go AU on everything, so we get the characters from Haven with the plot of the film "Warm Bodies." (If you haven't seen it yet, you should. It's brilliant!) Yep, that's right, Haven plus zombies. It's gonna be a blast :)

Also if anyone is into graphic arts, I'm looking for a cover for this story. Message me if you're interested!

Updates every Friday and, as usual, I own nothing but an over-active imagination.

* * *

**Chapter One**

**N**

I can't really say for sure exactly how this whole thing started. Not sure if anyone can, really. Most of us don't have any memories from Before, and those who do are more interested in putting bullets in our heads than chatting. Not that we've tried. Or that we can even really talk. I'm getting off track though. I don't know what caused this whole mess. Could've been genetic mutations, virus, radioactive sheep, alien biochemical warfare. It doesn't really matter how it happened, all that matters is that it did. One day the world was fine and the next day half the world's population died. And then came back as Corpses.

Yeah, with a capital C. Because we're not just dead, we're_ un_dead.

And I say 'we' because I'm one of them. I don't have any memories from Before I died. Hell, I don't even remember how I died, come to think of it. Some of us you can tell something of who they were Before. For example, take that guy over there in the fatigues. He was clearly military, probably sent in to deal with the Corpse problem, before he got his arm gnawed off. Bad luck there, mate. Then that lady there was some high powered businesswoman, judging by what was probably once a really nice suit.

Me, well it's a bit harder to tell. Not a whole lot you can make out from a tall, lanky guy in jeans and a henley. Short, brown hair and eyes that were probably blue before the zombie-fog set in. Heavy jacket with a hood and standard black boots. Other than that there's not much in the way of signifying features: no wedding ring, tattoos, wallet. Not even any surprisingly placed piercings. I could've been anything. Any_one_. I don't even know my name. I think it might've started with an N, but that's the best I've got.

I stagger down the street passed a Corpse who is jerkily scrubbing a window. And by that I mean he's been at it so long that the rag and his skin have rubbed away, so all he's doing is smearing his own blood and tissue over the glass. Gross, dude. Some of us get stuck; stalled. Muscle memories left over from Before is my theory. It doesn't matter though, we all snap out of it once the Hunger sets in. In the end, we really only have two things on our agenda: walking - or well, _shuffling_ - and eating.

That's all we have left.

When that's all you have to look forward to every day, it's pretty easy to give up hope. It's not exactly fun, being a monster. But you have to find something to hold on to or else you become one of Them. The high-pitched snarl makes me look down the alley I've passed even though I know that territorial warning. A Boney. Nothing more than a skeleton with dried up muscles and an insatiable appetite, Boneys are what we all become eventually. They will eat anything with a heartbeat, and I mean _anything_.

I mean, yeah, so do I, but at least I feel bad about it afterwards.

I don't like living this way. I want more from life - _afterlife?_ - than just wandering around and killing people. I hate the isolation and the loneliness. Sure there are others all around me but there's no connection. We don't associate with each other apart from occasional hunting parties. There has to be more to the world than this mindlessness. I want to think and experience and _feel_. And I mean that literally; Corpses don't exactly have fully functional nervous systems. I want to know warm and cold and pain. Anything has to be better than this numb emptiness.

My feet guide me along a familiar path, one I've travelled what must be hundreds of times. I've been hanging around this town for a long time now. It might've been where I died, but I'm not sure. My memory of waking up is fuzzy; just the blind hunger pushing me on. It's a decent-sized place, a bit outside the bigger city, with lots of homes and shops to wander through. I like that; I like to look at all the things that got left behind. I don't know what most of them are or what they do, but I collect them. They fascinate me. And it passes the time between meals. Not like Corpses sleep.

I've set myself up in a little place on the edge of town where I don't have to worry about the others messing with my stuff. Pretty much the whole square building is full of shelves, which is convenient. I think it was a bookshop once because when I moved in there were broken books littered all over. I saved the ones I could and tucked them away in the shelves, although I might have put them back together wrong because I can't read much. Not one of the skills that carried over from Before unfortunately. That sure would help pass the time.

I let myself in through the back door - the front is blocked by the collapsed awning - and wander up to the nearest shelf. I pull out the bit of shaped glass from my jacket pocket and set it down next to a stack of playing cards. I found it on the mantle of a house that morning, a little piece of dusty glass carved to look like a flower. A few of the petals have broken off but it doesn't bother me. It's pretty, a bit of nice in a world full of dead, and those are my favourites.

Well, that and music. I stumble, tripping over a stack of blankets I forgot about, on my way to the desk in the front of the building where I keep my special collection. The ancient record player is a bit battered, deep scratches in the wood panel along the right side and one of its feet missing, but it still works. There's a vinyl still sitting on the turntable from yesterday. My fingers are stiff and it's hard to grab the arm, but I finally get it into place, and then it's the best part.

The crackle. The rustling sound as the needle finds its groove, and then the dull thump. A bass beat, like the throb of a heart, right before the music starts. It's so - _alive_.

The keening, wavering voice rolls out of the record as I settle down in my usual spot, a pile of cushions in the nearest corner. I lay back and look up at the ceiling where water damage and scratches have painted a mural across the plaster. The hunger is building, I can feel it starting to claw at my insides. Tomorrow I will have to start the long walk to the city and find something - some_one_ - to eat. But tonight...

Tonight it's just me and the music.

* * *

**AUDREY**

Seven years. I had just turned eighteen, the whole world spread out at my feet, and then the world had ended. Well, not technically, but a zombie apocalypse is pretty damn close. It sure feels like it sometimes.

I had always thought that zombies were just stories, the sort of horror movie monsters used to scare jumpy teenage girls. I can still remember the first time I saw one in real life. It was back at the very beginning, way before I made it to the Compound - known as Haven by the more optimistic occupants - when the world was still reeling from from this sudden new epidemic. I was out in Ohio at the time, still living in the same grubby little town where I'd grown up. I had made plans to leave, travel the world, but then suddenly there were people on the television telling us to stay inside and lock our doors.

So I'd gone back to the orphanage, the closest thing I'd ever had to a home. The town was quiet and eerie, everyone hiding in their boarded up houses. I went into the orphanage - it was so still, so silent - and in the main hall there were bodies. Children in matching uniforms, their skin striped with red and their skulls smashed in.

I turned to run, but there, in the doorway, was Sister Agnes. Only she didn't look like Sister Agnes anymore. Her skin was pale except for dark bruising around her eyes and purple veins along her neck. Those deep brown eyes that had so often been narrowed in disapproval at me as a child had faded over with a sickly gray fog. And worst of all, fresh blood stained her lower jaw and bits of flesh were caught in her bared teeth.

I thought zombie movies were bad, but nothing - _nothing_ - compares to the reality of nearly being eaten by someone you know.

"Audrey?"

I startle out of my thoughts and realise that my best friend's face is only a few inches from mine. I flinch backwards in surprise. "Jesus, Duke," I say indignantly, putting a hand over my racing heart.

"Welcome back, Dolly Daydream," he replies with a smirk, straightening up and folding his arms over his chest. "Nice fantasy?"

"Not particularly," I admit with a grimace, but there's something about the scruffy rouge's presence that always makes me feel better. He saved my life in a lake east of Niagara Falls when a Corpse shoved me in the water, and we've been inseparable ever since. We don't know much about each other's pasts - although I suspect his might involve some acts of a dubious moral ambiguity - but it doesn't matter. He brings a bit of fun and humour into this world of death.

"Need a little cheering up?" he asks, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

I laugh and slap him in the chest. "Thanks but no thanks, Casanova."

Duke shrugs and combs his long brown hair back into a ponytail, securing it with one of the elastics around his wrist. "Can't say I didn't try," he says unconcernedly. "Anyway, I just came to grab you. It's go time."

I stand up straighter and instinctively place a hand on the holster on my hip. It's time for another supply run out into the Dead Zone. They are days I look forward to and dread in equal measure. Nodding, I grab my jacket from the back of the chair and pull it on. "Right then, let's rock and roll," I say.

Duke grins. "You enjoy these a little too much," he says pointedly as we head out of the large house we live in and into the Compound.

"It's just nice to get outside these walls for a while," I say, glaring contemptuously at the enormous steel and stone walls that encircle the Compound. I know they keep the dead out and they're there for our protection, but I've never been fond of feeling trapped. Turns out even the apocalypse didn't change that part of me.

"You're mental. And maybe a little bit suicidal," Duke says but he nudges me with his elbow to show he's joking. As we approach the meeting point just inside of the gates, he lets out a soft groan. "Oh, of course he's coming as well."

"Be nice," I say, rolling my eyes. I walk up to the dark-haired man waiting stiffly at the gate, his shotgun slung across his back and a scowl on his face. "Hi Chris," I say, leaning in to kiss him.

Chris turns his head at the last second so my kiss lands on his cheek instead of his lips. "Audrey," he responds, the affection still there beneath his stoicism. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah," I say, trying not to feel too disappointed at his coldness. It hadn't always been this way, and he's better when we're alone, but he takes his position of authority very seriously. I glance around at the four others with us while I collect myself and then turn back to meet Chris' ice-blue gaze. "Where are we going?"

"Med salvage," Chris answers tightly, his left hand clenching and unclenching around the hilt of the knife at his side. "Hospital down over the old state line." One of the wall soldiers wanders down through the group and checks our papers, and then nods us over the screen against the wall. I settle myself between Chris and Duke and watch as the grainy image flickers into life on the television.

The familiar, wrinkled face of Vince Teagues appears on the screen, his curled gray hair hanging heavy around his cheeks. I'm torn between fondness and frustration at the sight of him. When Duke and I had first arrived at the Compound, emaciated and nearly dead, Vince and his brother Dave had taken us both in and nursed us back to life personally. Even now, he insists we share his house, giving us bedrooms in the enormous manor house designated for the leader of the Compound.

At the same time, I don't agree with the way he manages things here. His idea of preserving humanity is to hide everyone inside this giant fortress and just exist in this miserable stasis. He's not even putting in much effort to find a cure, a way to fix things. I don't want to just linger and wait for things to get better. I want to do something to help.

Too bad I don't understand enough about science to do any research myself.

The Vince on the screen lets out a world-weary sigh and steeples his fingers together. "Thank you for your dedication and service," he says, his firm, leader voice not completely masking the huffing wheeze of an old man. "You know how essential these trips are, acquiring the supplies necessary to keep our people healthy and alive. I know that you-"

"You reckon we're going to find medicine for the cure this time?" I murmur to Duke, toning out the pre-recorded message. It's not like I haven't seen it before.

On my other side Chris makes a derisive noise. "Nobody believes in cures anymore, Audrey, don't be ridiculous." Duke shoots a significant look at Chris and then puts a hand on my shoulder. Still, the sympathetic half-smile he gives me tells me he's sceptical about there being a cure as well. Why has everyone given up?

"-even if they look like your mother, your brother, your friend, they are _monsters_. You cannot hesitate, but if you remember your training you will survive. Thank you all," Vince says, "and return safely to Haven. Good luck and God bless America."

"So patriotic," Duke says sarcastically. "Really, I'm moved." I try to hide a smile as the wall guards open the gate and usher us forward. Now's probably not a good time to be laughing. We all shoulder the backpacks they offer out to us and then step passed the gaping entrance into the garage. It's nothing more than a cavernous warehouse where we store all of the vehicles we've managed to salvage - which isn't very many for such a big population - and anything needed to maintain them. If they're designating a car for us then they're sending us much farther than usual, out of the normal scouting zones.

We all pile into a utility van, two of the larger men taking the front seats while the rest of us settle down on the hard floor in the back. It's uncomfortable, everyone knee-to-knee and our breath making the air fill thick and humid. I can feel the butt of Duke's gun pressing against my hip. There's a petrol can tucked in the corner and even though it's capped the acidic smell is heavy and makes my nose itch.

The soldier starts the van and outside the others pull open the front gates. The ancient van hums and vibrates as it rolls out of the Compound and into the open world beyond. As sunlight filters through the windscreen and illuminates the motes of dust swirling in the back compartment, the driver says, "Welcome to the Dead Zone, folks."

"Cheery, that," Duke says dryly. One of the women in our group, a pretty black girl a bit younger than me with a mass of curls, laughs appreciatively at the statement. Chris and the other man in the front scowl. Ignoring them, Duke adjusts the strap on his military grade rifle and shrugs. "What? This place is depressing enough as it is, no need to be so glum and dark or it's going to be a long trip. How long a trip is it anyway?"

"Two days, roundtrip, if we keep a good pace," Chris answers curtly.

Two days. Forty-eight hours outside of the safety and protection of the Compound. It's not the first time, and hardly the longest, but I know it's going to be a dangerous trip. I don't want to calculate the odds of us making it there and back without encountering a zombie horde. Or the odds of us all making it back alive. I unzip my jacket to counter the sticky air in the van, straighten my shoulders and take a deep breath.

At least I'm out of that stuffy fortress.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** Thank you everyone who's subscribed already, I'm glad you guys have all been so accepting of my crazy world-blending.

And I forgot to mention it last time, although I'm sure you've figured it out by now, that the story is written in rotating first-person perspective. You can always tell who it is by the bolded name at the top of the section.

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**Chapter Two**

**N**

Call me sentimental, but I like watching the sunrise. Well, that's a lie, or maybe an exaggeration. Sometimes, if I'm out all night - which I don't do often because the Boneys creep me out - I'll stop and watch the sun creeping up over the ruined skyline. What I really love though is watching morning come inside of my house. I've filled the windows that face the sunrise with trinkets, anything transparent but colourful that I can find. Coloured glass, broken bottles, bits of thin fabric, even a stripe of blue and yellow I drew on the glass with markers. The windowsills are cluttered with them and some of them hang off the broken frame of the window, the ones I managed to tie up or pin in place with my clumsy fingers.

So I lay on my back and watch the haphazard jumble of colours blossom into life on the ceiling as the first rays of sunlight creep over the horizon. It's an explosion, a cacophony, a symphony of light and colour. Where did I learn those words anyway? Weird. Maybe I was a poet Before? I stare in fascination at the ever-shifting mass of colours as it crawls gradually toward the top corner of the wall and then I finally get myself up and moving.

I switch off my record player before letting myself out of the house. I'm hungry and need to eat, but there's one more stop to make first. I shuffle across town, several streets down to a building that used to be some sort of office, I reckon. It's the place where I can always find him. I stumble up the steps and into the cramped space, weaving through upturned tables and filing cabinets until I get to the room in the very back, where my best friend is sitting.

And I used the term 'best friend' very loosely. Mostly it means we hang around the same areas, and we occasionally groan and stare a lot in a pathetic attempt at conversation.

He's a strange guy, really, a bit taciturn in mood. A lot older than me if his gray hair and wrinkled face are anything to go by. I think he must've been some sort of official Before, because his blue shirt has yellow shields and stripes sewn onto the shoulders, and his belt has a lot of unnecessary clips attached to it. When he's not out hunting, he spends most of his time lingering around the office or just sitting behind the desk and staring, like he's doing now.

I drop into the chair in front of his desk and he looks at me, cocking his head. "Gr-rr," I greet, my weak voice box stumbling over the single syllable. A while back I managed to ask him his name - by saying the word 'name' and tilting my head questioningly - and the most response he made was Gr. I'm assuming it's the start to his name, like mine. Either that or he was growling at me comedically, but I doubt that. He doesn't seem like the sort of guy to have a sense of humour. It's not much of a name, but it makes it easier to address each other.

"Nnn," he slurs back.

I stare in fascination at a cracked photo frame on his desk, the glass and photo missing but the tarnished silver frame still standing erect in a place of honour. I wonder what picture used to sit there. For some reason seeing it makes me sad. Trying to coax my atrophied vocal cords into movement again, I manage two whole syllables this time. "Hun-greee."

Gr nods, standing up and planting his hands on the desktop in an almost intimidating stance. "Sih-tee," he responds. I grunt in agreement and stand up as well, walking in front of him out of the office.

I don't know why I always go to Gr first before going on a hunt. Might be that I like his company, although since we're Corpses that doesn't really entail much. I don't even know what it is about him that drew us together. I just vaguely remember him being there in the early days right After. Maybe he's the one who turned me, or maybe he's just the poor soul who didn't get the chance to finish me off before I came back. Either way, we always seem to end up travelling together when we venture out into the human world.

We accumulate a bit of a crowd as we make our way out of town and onto the main highway. It doesn't bother me. It's always safer to hunt in a pack anyway, since the humans are all so trigger-happy. When there's a lot of us, it lowers the chances one of us will take a bullet to the brain, which is perfectly fine with me. I may not love being a Corpse, but I'd still rather not die. You know, again.

The cities all looked trashed and dismal, but out here on the open highway between the cities it's almost pleasant. There aren't any crumbling buildings and fewer moving things. Just trees and grass and the wind. And rusted out cars and the occasional bit of person that hasn't been carried off by a Corpse or animal yet. But still, it's calmer and quieter than in the city, apart from our shuffles and moans as we creep along at a pace like mud in winter.

Jesus Christ we are _slow_.

* * *

**AUDREY**

I have never had to sit through a more painfully uncomfortable trip than this one. The air is thick and humid, and the half-open windows in the front of the van do nothing for easing that. It only gets hotter as it gets further into the day. The van has no discernible shocks or suspension and after the first two hours we all stop apologising for jostling into each other. Instead an awkward, irritable quiet settles between us.

As the sun sinks closer to the horizon, I reach out for Chris' hand. Night is always the worst in the Dead Zone. It's so difficult to see in the darkness, but that change doesn't bother the Corpses. They lurch at you out of the shadows and they'll have their teeth in you before you can do anything to stop them. Chris threads his fingers with mine but he doesn't acknowledge the gesture any more than that. I don't comment on it, because at least he didn't shake me off like he normally does when we're with others.

"Nearly there, folks," the driver announces over his shoulder. "Get yourselves ready."

Chris immediately drops my hand, turning his attention to making sure that his gun is armed and his pack is prepared. I bite back a sigh and catch the sympathetic look Duke gives me as he adjusts the straps on his forearm that hold a throwing knife in place. I follow suit with everyone else and start double-checking my equipment. No time for being sentimental in the Dead Zone.

The driver pulls the van up behind a large, rectangular building with a broken red cross on the top floor, backing up so the rear doors face the the hospital. Once the van is shut off, Chris nods to the man closest to the doors. The man - a sweet little wall guard with a receding hairline and gentle eyes - nods back and carefully open the doors, checking around in both directions. After a tense moment he motions for us with a quiet, "All clear."

Duke offers me a hand as I jump down out of the back of the cargo hold, and he squeezes it fondly before taking up his rifle again. I give him a small smile in return, understanding the message: be safe. I adjust the strap of my pack, draw my 9mm from the hip holster, and follow the others into the derelict hospital.

The whole place has an eerie, horror movie vibe. Doors are broken off frames, furniture broken and upturned, cupboards ransacked. Medical machines lay on their sides, screens cracked and wires hanging loose. There are distinct signs of squatters having been there at some point, but there are no signs of life. At least none that's survived. Some of the rooms, pale and open, have beds stained with deep maroon blood and small remnants of bodies that were devoured by Corpses a long time ago.

"God this place is creepy," Duke murmurs as we walk through a ward where the beds are separated by blood-speckled, torn curtains that stir gently as our motion pushes air passed them. I can see on the other's faces that they agree wholeheartedly, whether they want to admit it or not.

Chris and Soft-Eyes, following the placards still tacked on the dirty walls, lead us to a medical storage room. The first one is gutted, most everything of use taken or contaminated by blood and decay. We have to try three more of the storerooms before we find one on the second floor that is still fairly well stocked and apparently untouched.

"Alright, everyone, you know how this works," Chris says and nods into the room. "We load up anything of necessity and leave the rest." Everyone spreads out to different corners of the room, examining the products on the shelves before tossing them aside or shoving them into our backpacks.

I walk over to a row of boxes and a look inside shows they contain plasters and wraps and ointments, all items in high demand back home. Infected injuries can kill you quick as anything, and the last thing we need are undead inside the Compound as well as outside. It happened once before, a man lost a finger and it got infected, and he eventually died. He reanimated that night and killed three people before someone killed him for good. They became a lot more meticulous about checking for injuries when coming back to the Compound after that.

I pick through the box, pulling out all of the wraps and plasters that are still fresh and tucking them into the bottom of my bag. "Mm, look guys, Vicodin," Duke says enthusiastically. "Anybody want to split some with me?" Chris gives him a stern look and opens his mouth, and Duke cuts across him quickly, "Oh relax, Mr. Congeniality, I'm only kidding." He tucks the bottles into his backpack, although out of the corner of my eye I see him slip one into his pocket. He smirks in my direction, knowing I saw, and then goes back to work. I try not to smile as I start stowing away a layer of antiseptics.

I've just picked up a suture kit when a distant thunk reaches my ears and I tense. "Did anyone else hear that?"

Everyone freezes for a tense minute, straining our ears for any hint of noise, but there's nothing apart from laboured breathing. "It's nothing, Audrey," Chris says, walking over to stand behind me.

I frown, turning to face him. "We should get out of here," I say decisively. These scavenging missions don't do any good if we don't survive to bring the supplies home.

"We can't just leave," Chris says and he fixes me with a patronising look. "You know how important these missions are. Haven needs this medicine and it's our job to gather-"

I wave him off, stepping out from between him and the shelf to cross the room. I need to put some distance between us before I slap that look off his face. "Yeah, okay Vince," I say sarcastically.

Chris snorts, following close behind me. "Flattery doesn't win arguments."

"I didn't mean it as a compliment," I reply shortly, picking up a box of syringes to avoid looking at him. God he can be so argumentative sometimes, I just want to -

Another crashing sound, louder this time, makes us all look up. "Okay, I definitely heard it that time," Duke chimes in. "Seriously, Brody, I think it's time to split."

"It's nothing," Chris says but he doesn't sound truly convinced, walking toward the door and squinting through the dingy glass panel. "Probably just the wind knocking something over, it's fine." He turns around and starts walking back into the room, giving me a slightly annoyed look. As he does, my gaze slips passed him and I feel my heart drop into my stomach at full speed.

"Chris!"


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Sorry this is a day late everyone, life got a little chaotic. But here we have it, they finally meet! And has everyone figured out who Gr is now? I tried to make it pretty obvious.

Any Haven characters that you want to make an appearance? Tell me in a review and if they aren't already in (there've already been a couple sneaky cameos) then I will try and write them in for you!

* * *

**Chapter Three**

**N**

The first two times I smell food, the meal has already been claimed by a Boney. They snarl at us as we pass them, crouched over their catch and clutching the still bleeding organs defensively. Each time Gr nudges me on faster, almost protectively, until we are out of range. We have to travel further into the city, deeper than I've ever been before, to the area where the buildings climb into the sky and graffiti decorates abandoned cabs and police cars.

We're shuffling passed a large whitish building when I suddenly catch a whiff of life. I pause, closing my eyes and breathing in deeply. Yes, that's definitely live food. I grunt and Gr imitates my inhale. The corner of his lips twitch just slightly in a show of excitement. I nod and we head up the steps into the building, following the smell of warmth and flesh.

Once we're inside, I can tell that this building used to be a hospital. There are beds and wheelchairs and electronic equipment that's long since died. The part of me that still recognises irony stirs into life. People have always taken sanctuary from death in this place, and yet here come the dead to claim the living all the same. Good to know some things never really change. It's almost poetic, in a disturbingly macabre way.

The Hunger is twisting up my insides and the smell of flesh is getting stronger as we shamble up a service staircase to the next floor. I bump into a chair and it tips over onto its back while I stagger to regain my balance. A few feet further down the hall one of the others knocks a plastic bin off a table and it clatters loudly on the tile. It doesn't matter; we're so close now there's no escape for the humans. Eager moans roll from our group as we get closer to the door that separates us from our dinner. I can see the back of a human's head through the window panel in the door and my heart would've leapt if it still worked.

I crash through the door and almost immediately take the butt of a rifle to the face, sending me sprawling. That turns out to be my saving grace, because a spray of bullets strikes right through where I was standing. A redheaded older female Corpse collapses instead with a drip of brown blood oozing from the hole in her forehead.

The humans are shouting and the Corpses are growling and the whole place has descended into absolute chaos. I look up in time to see two Corpses team up on a man with thinning hair and he shrieks as they bite into his flesh. I'm still struggling to get back to my feet, my stiff, awkward limbs refusing to cooperate. I've managed to get up to one knee when it happens.

I see _her_.

She slides out from behind the shelter of a shelf, an handgun held aloft in a steady grip as she puts a bullet in the temple of a Corpse to my left. She's beautiful. She's got hair like spun gold, strands hanging loose from her ponytail to frame her flushed, round cheeks. Her sky blue eyes are narrowed in focus, her rosebud lips pursed as she concentrates on her target. It's so much more than just her looks though. She's so _alive_. She is fire and passion and energy. She's like a perfect classic rock ballad, with strength and fight beneath the soft words and story. She is the will to live. Looking at her almost makes me feel something more than just hunger. It's like - _hope_.

The woman rolls back into her hiding place and I immediately shove myself to my feet, determined to follow. I don't care that I'm a Corpse and she's a human, or that's she's got a loaded gun in her hand that will put me in my place permanently. All I know is that something about her makes me feel alive, and I need to know why.

My shoulder whips backward at the impact of a shot and I turn to look at the perpetrator. The man from the door, the one who hit me with his gun, is standing on top of a table to get a better vantage point. Eyes like ice are narrowed and he sneers as he aims the rifle at my face. "Take this, fucker."

The girl may be off-limits, but this bastard's not. He just put another hole in my favourite - admittedly, _only_ - jacket. I snarl and launch myself at him, the second bullet sailing clean over my head. He yells when I grab his leg and pull him down off the table, his head hitting the granite on the way. I twist his arm up and sink my teeth into the forearm, feeling the tendons and muscle shredding beneath the pressure. My stomach hums in pleasure at each swallow, grateful to finally be fed.

Now don't misunderstand me. I don't like killing people. I hate it, honestly. I don't like living like this. But the Hunger is _so strong_. I can't help myself. It's this or give up and become a Boney, and I'm not ready for that yet. I do this because I have to, nothing more than that.

The man is still thrashing and screaming at me. I grab him roughly by the throat, noticing an interesting pendant around his neck as I do, and bash his head against the floor. The resultant crack is cringe-worthy, even to me and I've still got a mouthful of bloody tissue. I shove once, twice, three times, until he finally goes limp with a particularly gross crunching sound that drips intracranial fluid onto my fingers.

Now at this point I could just leave him - eat just enough more to be full and then be done - then he'll come back as one of us. But if I eat his brains, he'll stay dead and I'll get his memories. It's horrible, I know, but it feels so good. It makes me feel alive again, if only for a few brief moments. I'm sorry, but I have to do it. It's the best part.

I plunge my hand through the shattered back of his skull and claw out a fistful of gray matter. It's like gelatin on my tongue and as I chew I feel synapses in my head flare into life. My eyes cloud over with images not my own and I sink into the thrill.

_...You pump your legs as fast as you can... Push, push, push... The exhilarating burn and buzz of active muscles... Nothing but green grass for miles in every direction, edged by the forest, all of it waiting to be explored and conquered... Wind whips over the hill, blowing your hair back off your forehead and making you feel like flying... Flying... Flying...You spread your arms, running, still running, and the wind makes you fly..._

I moan as the sensations of weightlessness and childish imagination fade, but a new memory follows directly on its heels.

_...The waves are cold... Cold... Bitterly cold as they wash up around your bare feet... You flex your toes and the wet sand squishes, sinks, sucks at you...You climb unsteadily over the rocky ridge that edges the beaches and the stone is sharp. It bites, nips, scratches your soles... Pain... Pain but still pleasure... You crouch by a tide pool and examine the spongy vine-like plants growing there curiously... Happiness... Discovery... Purpose..._

_...Another morning almost identical, some ten years later... Doing the same thing, but now as a university student... Older, tired, harder... But still happy here... Comfortable... At home... Peaceful..._

I sigh. At home. What a wonderful feeling. Have I ever felt so peaceful before? I like my house, but I'm never peaceful. There's always something; anxiety, frustration, loneliness, Hunger.

Never a calm like this.

The world is still going on around me, still screams and growls and death, but I greedily suck away the gray matter clinging to my palm. Just a little more, a few more seconds.

_...There's a girl, a new girl, in Haven. You go to talk to Vince about a patrol concern and there she is, sitting on the sofa in his living room. Her cheeks are hollow, sign of having been hungry for a while, but there's colour in her skin and she looks healthy, if wary. She looks up at you curiously and you feel the weight of her bright blue eyes, making your heart jump. "Hi, I'm looking for Vince," you say._

_"He had to run out on some business," she replies. "He should be back soon, if you want to wait."_

_"Sure, thanks," you say and you take a seat in one of the mismatched armchairs. "I'm Chris."_

_"Audrey," she says and smiles..._

_...You stretch on the mattress and feel the comfortable warmth of Audrey curled against your side. You comb your fingers through her hair as she nuzzles into your chest. "I miss ice cream trucks," she murmurs, tracing idle patterns on your stomach with a fingertip._

_You snort. "Ice cream trucks?"_

_"Yeah. Those creepy, off-tune nursery rhymes. The way every kid in the neighbourhood screams in excitement when they hear it," she explains. "It's just one of those things you take for granted, I guess."_

_You smile fondly, turning to plant a kiss on her forehead. "It's cute that you think of things like that," you say. "Most people don't bother."_

_"Did you just call me cute, Brody?" she asks teasingly. She rolls onto her stomach and props herself up on her elbows, leaning over you. "How very eloquent and flattering."_

_"You're so annoying," you say in amusement._

_"Ah, there's my Chris," she says and she leans in, pressing her lips to yours. The emotions and sensations are fascinating, overpowering, as her mouth moves against yours. It's some long minutes later when she pulls back, and her eyes bore straight into yours, seeing right through you. "Chris, I - I think I'm in love with you."_

_Your heart is racing. Thrumming, pulsing, hammering away at a million miles an hour. This feeling, it's like euphoria. She loves you. Love. Not just a silly crush, like the girls you liked in high school back before the world went to hell. This is real, eternal, forever._

_"Chris, don't just stare at me," she says and you can see the flash of panic in her eyes. Panic and desperation. "Say something. Anything. God, I shou-"_

_"Audrey," you cut across her abruptly, "I think I love you too." And then her lips touch yours again and the world melts away..._

The images fade and the world around me comes back into reality. It's still madness and fighting; only a handful of seconds have passed. I look across at the blonde woman. _Audrey_. The feeling, the longing to understand her, is even stronger than before. I have to know.

I hastily jam a couple handfuls of brain and that curious necklace into the pocket of my jacket and then shove myself to my feet. Audrey sees me as I lurch forward and I see her eyes go wide in fear. Bracing herself, she levels a gun with my head and I instinctively flinch as she pulls the trigger. The click of the empty barrel is loud and I would've laughed if I could, in fact, laugh. Saved by an empty chamber. Turns out even the dead get lucky sometimes.

Cursing, she throws the gun away and reaches for her belt. With a sharp flick of her wrist a dagger embeds itself in my sternum. I stare at the handle in fascination - she has a hell of a throw to get it that far in - before pulling it out and dropping it. Audrey backs into a shelf and a look of panic lights in her eyes when she realises she has nowhere else to go. She crouches down, folding in on herself, as I get closer and kneel in front of her. She looks so scared. I need to do something to make her feel better.

"Awh-ree," I mumble thickly. Damn it, those hard consonants are a bitch. One more try, I can do this. "Awh-dree."

Nailed it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

**AUDREY**

"Chris!"

The cry has barely left my mouth before the storage room door is shoved open so hard it hits the wall and cracks the glass panel. The lead Corpse charges toward Chris and he takes it down by slamming the butt of his rifle into its face. Instinctively, I draw my gun and start firing into the pack. Everything around me dissolves into madness and it's all I can do to focus on keeping myself alive. I lose track of Chris and Duke in the mess as I duck behind a shelf for safety and check the clip in my gun. Assured that it's still usable, I roll sideways out into the aisle and take a carefully measured shot into the head of a red-haired Corpse woman. She makes a sickening noise as she crumples to the tile. Not wanting to stay in the eye-line of the Corpses for too long, I pitch myself back into my safe spot.

A hulking Corpse barrels around the corner of my shelf from the other side and I hastily pivot. It has just lunged when I take the shot, and I get it point-blank in the jaw. As it falls I quickly put another bullet in its brain, just in case I missed the first time. I hear a startled shout and round the corner to the next row to see Duke flying through the air. He hits the shelf and slumps to the ground in a heap, and the Corpse that threw him is bearing down hungrily. It takes me three shots before the Corpse's skull fractures and sprays congealed blood across Duke's unconscious figure. I hurry to check his pulse and make sure he's alive - the steady throbbing beneath my fingertips is the most welcome relief - before I straighten up and start searching through the fighting for Chris.

"Chris?" I yell but I can't see him anywhere. The last I saw he'd jumped onto a countertop for better vantage, but he's not there anymore. In fact it seems like all of our party is gone now, their still bodies littering the floor and twisted at grotesque angles as the Corpses tear into them greedily. "Chris!" I'm the only one still up and moving, and as far as I can tell I'm the only one still alive apart from Duke, who hasn't woken up from hitting his head yet.

A Corpse stands up from behind a counter and I feel its clouded eyes fix firmly on me. My heart leaps frantically and I lift my gun as it steps forward. _Aim, breathe, squeeze,_ I remind myself of my gun training. I sight the gun on the Corpse's forehead and, letting out a shaky breath, pull the trigger. The hollow click of the barrel sends a whole new wave of panic through me. Empty. The chamber's empty.

Dropping the useless weapon, I grab the knife on my belt and throw it, hoping to slow the Corpse down enough for me to find a way out. The blade sinks into its chest with a squishy thunk and the Corpse pauses, and for a moment I think I see a look of surprise on its face but then its gone. Couldn't have been there in the first place. Corpses don't have feelings. It's just the terror and adrenaline playing tricks on me. I back up carefully, my eyes panning around for some escape route, but there are clusters of Corpses eating in front of either entrance to the room. There's nothing. My back hits the shelf. I'm trapped. I'm about to die.

My knees go weak and I fall to sit on my heels, curling in on myself defensively. There's blood and gore on the Corpse's chin, in its teeth, as it kneels in front of me, and I hold back a sob. Even if I could get away from this Corpse, there are still a half dozen of them between me and freedom, and that's providing I could outrun them long enough to get to the van. I'm going to die. I hope it doesn't hurt. The Corpse mumbles something, a hoarse, guttural sort of noise and I flinch. I wish it would stop staring at me like that and just get it over with.

"Awh-dree."

My head shoots up and I stare at the Corpse in shock. Did it just...? It was weak and forced, like the word cost it a lot of effort, but I could've sworn it just said my name. But that's impossible. Corpses don't talk. They don't think. And how the hell did it know my name in the first place?

The Corpse meets my gaze with its ghostly blue eyes, wearing an expression of almost self-satisfaction, and dips its head slowly. "Awh-dree."

"How-?" I can't even begin to process this. This Corpse just talked. And not just that, but it said my name. How does it know my name? I glance over the face but it's unfamiliar. Not some lingering memory from before being turned then. Of course not, that's impossible. But then so is talking Corpses and I just saw that happen so...

The Corpse looks around and its brow furrows ever so slightly before it turns back to me. I cringe as it sticks two fingers into the gaping bullet wound in its shoulder and pulls it out covered in the stagnant, muddy blood of a Corpse. It reaches for me and I can't stop myself from flinching away with a whimper. Here it comes. Its going to grab me, hold me in place as it bites in. The Corpse places its hand along the side of my face, dragging its fingers down in a sick imitation of an intimate gesture. I feel the thick, slimy blood smearing down my skin as it does, sticking to my cheek and jaw and neck. The Corpse leans in and sniffs deeply and then sits back on its haunches without so much as touching me.

What the hell is going on here? Why is it drawing this out? I would think it was some twisted, psychological torture except Corpses aren't capable of thinking. So what is this one doing then? It is staring at me with those foggy blue eyes, head tipped just a bit to the left, and beneath the gore and pale skin and scars it almost looks - compassionate.

The Corpse suddenly looks around again as the others start moving and frowns. It stares straight into my eyes - when did Corpses learn to maintain eye contact? - and speaks again. "C-come." Before I even have time to consider what this means, it takes my wrist and tries to tug me up with it. I dig my heels in but all that accomplishes is that the Corpse drags me behind it like a doll. Corpses may look thin and emaciated, but they are deceptively strong and this one is no exception.

After sliding gracelessly along the dirty floor for a few feet I finally get my feet underneath me and manage to stand. The Corpse hasn't broken its stride the entire time, shuffling dutifully across the room after the others.

We're out of the hospital before it occurs to me just what is going on. It's taking me with it, back to wherever this pack of Corpses came from. It's going to take me home and I'm going to be the fresh meat they store away until they get hungry again. I might even be their snack, the thing they take the occasional bite or two from to curb cravings. Is it going to be all of them or just this one? Either way, it's going to be a slow, miserable, painful death. My legs shake beneath me, threatening to collapse, and I can't stop the sob that bubbles out of me.

The pack of Corpses shambles on in silence apart from sporadic groans and scuffing of feet all through the night. I try several times to get away, but I can't break the Corpse's grip on my wrist, and eventually I'm too tired to try anymore. My muscles ache, especially my legs, from the miles we've covered as we travel down the vacant highway. I shake from fear and hunger and exhaustion, and my eyes burn from the tears that I can't control.

Just as the sun is coming up we reach a town, the sort of place that might have once been a charming colonial village but is now a dirty, ghostly remnant of the millions of lives lost. The Corpses are beginning to branch off and go in different directions like they have places to be. Weird, I always thought they stayed in their hunting groups for the most part, that they had formed kind of packs like other predatory animals.

Does this mean I'm destined to be a meal for just the one Corpse? Will it just steadily snack on me until I finally bleed out or die of infection and come back as one of them? The idea is horrific and I make one more bid for freedom with a squeak of, "please." The Corpse turns back to me, its eyes wide with - fear? No, Corpses don't feel fear. It holds a finger up to its lips in a childish gesture for quiet, a motion so human I falter in surprise. The Corpse continues to walk me around the back of a building, the chipped paint in the front window declaring it "Faerie Tale Books." It opens the back door and drags me inside, and then closes the door with a distinctive click.

As soon as the Corpse releases me, I put as much space between us as I can. I press myself back against the wall and return to my defensive foetal position. The adrenaline is starting to ebb and exhaustion has kicked in with a vengeance, and all I can do is curl up and shake, waiting for the inevitable. I watch the Corpse, wanting some warning of when the pain will come, but it doesn't move. It stays in its spot by the door and stares back at me with that unblinking, blue-eyed stare.

"Awh-dree," it stutters out but I don't move. I can't. "No..." it crudely mimes biting, pieces of flesh still in its bloody teeth and I cringe away. "Eat." There's something different about this Corpse. This must be some new evolution in them, the ability to speak and emulate, even if its awkward and poor. They must be changing to become better killers. If I take my eyes off it for a second, it might attack. It cocks its head to the side and lowers its voice as it says, "S-safe."

Then, to my utmost surprise, it turns around and walks back out the way it came, leaving me alone in the empty building. I stare at the closed door in confusion. Did it really just leave? Legs shaking, I stand and peer out of the nearest window but I can't see the Corpse. Does it expect me to just stay here and wait to be eaten later?

I cross to the door and yank it open, ready to run, but freeze. There is a different Corpse on the other side of the wide alleyway and it looks up at the sound of the door. Panicked, I snap the door shut and plant my back against it. It's not safe to run, not yet. There's no way I'd even make it out of town, let alone all the way back to the Compound. The truth rings in my head again.

_Trapped...trapped...trapped..._

I retreat to the corner, curl in on myself, and give in to the hopelessness and tears.


	5. Chapter 5

**N**

I must be insane. That's the only explanation for what I'm doing. What am I thinking? I brought home a Living. Brought a Living into a town full of Corpses. None of the others would be so stupid. I don't know what got into me. I just - I couldn't leave her there without knowing why. Seeing her made me feel, completely on my own, for the first time since I woke up like this. I have to figure this out. I have to know what makes her so special.

I slip away from the group without saying good-bye to Gr, not wanting to bring any attention to the fact that I've got a companion. We've been remarkably lucky so far, no reason to push that luck over the edge of the cliff. I find myself hoping that Audrey doesn't try to pull anything. I don't want to hurt her but I can't let her try and run here. She wouldn't make it a half-mile before the others realised she's alive. We can run when we want, but you can definitely tell the difference between the gait of a Living and a Corpse. Living don't run like drunk people with feet that have fallen asleep.

Also there's part of me that thinks she's probably more than capable of kicking my ass if she got it in her mind.

We're nearly to my house when Audrey tries to tug her arm away again and murmurs a desperate, "Please." I turn and press a finger to my lips for silence, shooting a significant look at the pair of Corpses on the other side of the road. She looks frightened by my reaction but she presses her lips together, which I take as acquiesce, so I start walking again. I open the door to the shop and pull her in behind me, despite her physical protests, and then shut the door behind us firmly.

As soon as I let go of her wrist, Audrey hugs her arm to her chest and staggers backward away from me. She cowers into the corner, her wide eyes fixed on me. Now that I'm finally looking at her properly, I can see that she's been crying. There are salty tracks dried on her cheeks and her eyes are bloodshot and swollen. I cringe slightly and look around for some way to make it better. I step forward and Audrey cowers, curling in on herself.

"Awh-dree," I say. "No..." I struggle to figure out the right word to say it and mime chewing, "...eat." She whimpers. "S-safe." I get no reaction from her apart from her sobbing again.

I may not be the best at figuring out emotions and feelings and such, but even I can tell when it's time to give someone some space. So I slowly turn and shuffle out of the building, leaving her to collect herself. I will figure out what exactly the hell I'm supposed to do now, and then I'll come check on her again. But for now it's clear she needs some time to be alone and that's something even I can give her.

I leave the store, knowing she won't go anywhere, but I don't go far. Just in case she has no self-preservation. I round the corner of the alley to where an old blue truck is parked. It's one of those places where I like to hang out when I need to get away from the the house. I don't think the truck is actually functional anymore, and the windscreen is missing, but there is something liberating about sitting behind the wheel.

I settle into the bench seat and stare at the wooden fence in front of the truck thoughtfully. There's more I need to know about Audrey, to figure out who she is and why she makes me react and feel. Eating her boyfriend's brains is probably not the best method, but it's the quickest one I've got. Reaching into my pocket, I scrape out a handful of gray matter and put it in my mouth.

_..."So Chris, you're working in agriculture?" The older man, Vince Teagues, has a heavily lined face and his eyebrow arches into an unnaturally high curve as he glances across the desk at you._

_"It was the best fit for me, sir." You shuffle where you stand, staring uncertainly at the way your boots ruffle the worn rug. Dusty black on maroon like dried blood. "I worked in horticulture before this; marine, really, but it's same general ideas. It seemed like the best way to help."_

_"You ever thought about working in patrol?" Vince asks. "That was a good catch you made, spotting that weakness in the wall a few weeks back. We could use sharp eyes like yours on the defences."_

_"Don't let him bully you, Chris." You look over your shoulder to the sound of the voice you've grown so fond of in the last few weeks. Audrey is standing in the doorway, in so tight jeans and a violet top that makes the colour in her cheeks bolder. Brighter. "He just thinks that the only valuable thing we can do is to build bigger walls and bigger guns and somehow fight this thing to death."_

_"Without that wall and those guns, we'd all be dead now," Vince reminds her, the frustration in his voice showing that this is an argument they've had before. "You wouldn't have survived much longer on your own; you and Duke would've died."_

_"That doesn't mean there aren't other things that are just as important," Audrey says fervently. "Like keeping all these people healthy and alive, and looking for a cure for all of those people out there."_

_"The only cure for those things out there is a bullet in their heads," Vince says darkly._

_Audrey frowns at him for a moment and then turns her attention to you. "C'mon Chris, you ready?" You nod, eager to be out of the awkward situation, and take the hand she extends to you. As you're walking out of the manor she adds, "Don't mind him, he's just touchy today. It's Dave's birthday."_

_Your mind fills with images of the younger Teagues brother, with his semi-circle of white hair and thick glasses, his tatty sweater vest and short stature that still somehow managed to convey power. You met him a few times and you liked him. Vince used to be nicer back then too, but you suppose putting a bullet in your brother's brain when he turns into a flesh-eating monster will change anyone..._

_..."C'mon, hurry up," she says, tugging your hand. "This is the only way out of the Compound without passing guards." She pulls you through the back walkway and to a section of wall made of sheeted steel bolted into place. She pulls back a piece of corrugated metal to reveal a hidden path, a narrow tunnel that winds through the interior of the wall._

_She looks back at you and smiles. "Don't be a chicken," she teases. "You want to see your dad and this is the only way."_

_You hesitate, your heart racing, but you nod and slip into the passage. She follows and then takes your hand and leads the way. "I'm still not sure this is a good idea," you say. "Just us alone outside the wall with nothing but two 9mm."_

_"This way is deserted," she says confidently. "I've been through a few times and it's fine. Besides, you haven't heard from your dad in a week. This way comes out not far from the electrical warehouse."_

_You nod reluctantly and let her lead the way. Tunnel full of debris... half-flooded sewer that smells of dank... vacant football field littered with the remains of squatter camps... staircase where Audrey slides down the banister with a laugh that makes you smile... then finally you're in the open air, on the edge of a field of dry, overgrown grasses._

_"That's it there," she says and points at the large warehouse, thick black power lines strung from the building all the way up to the walls of Haven; one of three sources for all of the power used in the compound. Audrey's fingers are woven in yours as you walk across the open expanse to the warehouse._

_At the front door Audrey points and you find the familiar figure, the back of the head toward you but unmistakable. Relief washes through you like cool water soothing a burn. You push the door open and step inside. "Dad!"_

_You walk a few feet in and frown when the smell hits you. It's not the normal smell, the stifling heat of moving bodies and the sharpness of electricity, the muffled thickness of rubber and wires. No, the smell is a sickening sweet, cloying scent. The smell that clings to the areas infected by the dead._

_"Chris, wait," Audrey hisses and jogs up behind you._

_At that moment, the figures that are dotting the warehouse floor all turn to look at you. You can't take your eyes off your dad though and you stare straight into his bleached eyes. "No," you breathe, feeling your heart drop into your stomach._

_"Chris." Audrey grabs your elbow and starts to tug you back, but your feet are rooted to the floor. Not your dad. He's all the family you have left since Mom died when you were a kid. And now he's gone, dead but not dead. "Chris, we've got to go."_

_Dad tilts his head, staring at you in interest, and then suddenly he bares his teeth and growls. He charges at you, the other Corpses not far behind, and you finally are scared into action. You stumble backwards several steps, trying to get your feet to function properly while Audrey pulls your arm so hard it nearly sends you sprawling. The snarls of the Corpses are getting closer with every second and the door to the warehouse seems so far away._

_You trip over a cord and roll to an awkward stop on the dirty ground. You flip onto your back and stare up in horror as your father closes in on you, blood-stained teeth bared and prepared to sink into you._

_And then he recoils, his head snapping backward in time with the explosive crack of a gunshot from above your head. Audrey lowers her gun and grabs your arm, helping you up, and you both race the last few yards to the door. You stumble through and slam the door shut behind you, and Audrey wedges a broken pole through the doorhandle. "C'mon," she says, taking your hand and setting off again._

_You don't even realise you're crying until she meets your gaze and her terror morphs into pity and regret. "I'm so sorry." You brush away the apology and keep running. What's done is done. Now all you need to focus on is getting Audrey back to safety..._

_...You feel adrenaline pulsing through your veins, rushing through that hollow space in your chest that you've felt ever since that day at the warehouse. It feels good to finally feel like you're doing something. Anything to stop any more people from having to go through what you did. Determination. Patriotism. Resignation._

_"You sure about this?" Vince fixes you in that gaze, the one that's so serious and so much older and more exhausted than he appears._

_"Yes, sir," you respond firmly._

_Vince nods and puts a hand on your shoulder. "Welcome to the Guard, son." He glances over his shoulder at a soldier and nods to him. "Get him a gun and show him how to handle it."_

_As the enormous soldier steps up to show you how to use the military-grade rifle, you look down the line to where Audrey is standing. She meets your eyes and there's nothing but sadness there..._

I swallow the pulverised gray matter and settle back against the bench, musing on what I've just seen. It's no wonder she's afraid of me, with all she's been through. She lost this Dave, this man who seemed to have been close to her, to Corpses, and then had to shoot her boyfriend's father in the head. Then I ate her boyfriend, although I'm not sure she realises that just yet. I guess I can't really blame her for wanting nothing to do with me.

Clearly I need a different approach in getting through to her.

Wiping my hand off on my trouser leg, I climb down out of the truck and make my way back to my house. There's another Corpse hanging around the back door curiously but I snarl at him as I walk up and he wanders off, getting the point. That's one thing that is pretty great about Corpses; we all understand the rights of territory and don't mess with other people's things.

I let myself into the store and look around once the door is shut firmly behind me. I spot Audrey curled up on herself in a corner. She's got some sort of sharp, metal object in her hands, holding it in front of her defensively, and she watches me suspiciously. I take a step toward her and she lifts up the object - it turns out to be a screwdriver - and brandishes it at me threateningly. I hesitate and then step back, getting her point.

Turning around, I head over to the heap of blankets that I tripped over last night. I shove aside the top two because they're dirty and blood-spattered, but underneath them is a heavy quilt in pretty blues that's decently clean and I pick it up. I walk carefully back over to her and hold out the blanket. She eyes me distrustfully but she doesn't make any move to shank me so that's something. I shake out the blanket and then lay it over her folded legs and tuck it behind her shoulders. She whimpers and flinches when my skin touches hers, closing her eyes and turning her head away. She looks so resigned, so hopeless.

God, she thinks I'm going to hurt her.

I already told her once before that she's safe here, that I won't hurt her. I mean, I know I'm a Corpse but you can still take me for my word.

Taking several deliberate steps back, I wait for her to look at me again. "S-safe," I say. "N-not, hu-urt. K-keep you s-safe."

"Why me?" she asks, her voice a bit hysterical as a tear rolls across her cheek. "Why did you save me?"

Isn't that the question of the year? I shrug because that's all the answer I have. I don't know why I saved her, what it is that makes her so special, I just know that she is. And that I want her to stop being so sad. "D-don't, c-c-cry," I try weakly.

Audrey sobs and closes her eyes again. This isn't working. I need to find some other way to communicate with her, to assure her that I don't want to hurt her. I just want to understand her. I just want to know why I feel a connection to another thing for the first time since I died.

So I use the only other thing I feel connected to.

Shuffling across the room, I take the current vinyl off the record player and tuck it back onto the shelf. I fumble through them until I find one I wanted, the one that sounds like sadness. Audrey is sad, but maybe if she feels it with the music it will go away. Mostly I just want her to know that I know she's sad. I understand, as much as I can. Pulling out the vinyl, I set it on the player and settle the needle into the start.

The music is slow and lush, full of so many different instruments, but it's the voice I like. The woman's voice is - soothing. I sit down in my little nest, where I'm close to the music but I can still see Audrey, and I let the music wash through the room. I close my eyes and sway in tempo with the music, trying to show her that I - well not that I _feel_ it, but that I know that it _should_ feel. I wait patiently, not wanting to startle her, and after a while I get lost in the music. The track changes from one song to another, a sweeter, higher song.

"What _are_ you?"

I open my eyes, surprised by Audrey's question, and find her staring at me in rapt fascination. What am I? What kind of question is that? I mean, I'm a Corpse. I know I'm a little different than the others but that doesn't change what I am. I don't think so anyway. Maybe I'm not a Corpse. At least not a normal Corpse. After all I did just bring home a Living, and that's not exactly a normal Corpse thing to do.

Lost for an answer, I shrug and settle further down into my nest.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

**DUKE**

My first thought as I crawl towards consciousness is _fuck I hurt_. Every inch of me aches like I was beat with a baseball bat and my head is pounding. I want nothing more than to curl up and go back to sleep until I stop hurting.

Then my memories come filtering back and my eyes snap open. The last thing I remember is being thrown across the room by a huge Corpse and then I collided with something and everything went black. I sit up and survey the room, trying not to gag at the heavy stench of death hanging around me.

The enormous Corpse that attacked me is lying in a heap beside me, a small puddle of sludgy brown blood beneath its head. As I stand up I can see that the room is littered with bodies, some the dull gray of Corpses and the rest mangled mounds of flesh that used to be humans. The copper and meat smell of gore makes it difficult to keep my stomach from rebelling and I put a hand over my nose to filter the scent.

My first instinct is to check the room for survivors of either side. The moment I'm sure that no one else is alive - or undead - in the room, I check myself over for injuries. If I was bitten, I may as well pick up one of the abandoned guns and end it all right now. I won't come back as one of those things. To my surprise, even though I'm covered in blood it appears that none of it is mine. The only injury I have is a gash on the back of my head from where I hit the shelf, but the majority of the blood on me is a dark muddy brown. It must've spattered on me when someone shot the Corpse that attacked me.

I have no idea how I'm still alive but it's nothing short of a miracle. How did I survive when everyone else is-

"Audrey," I say, a sudden franticness sweeping over me. I dodge around shelves to the last place I saw my best friend. There's spots of blood, both brown and red, but there's no body. I immediately begin scanning every inch of the room, scrutinising every body for some sign of Audrey. I find what I think is Stan, the quiet wall guard. There's Evie - we've hooked up a few times and her death hurts me. On the other side of the room I find Chris Brody, one of his arms mauled and the back of his head bashed open. As much of a bastard as the guy was, I feel bad that he's dead.

Although I check every body in the room, none of them are Audrey. I allow a moment of hope to swell in me. Perhaps she escaped. Maybe she survived somehow and, thinking she was the only one living, she made a run for home. Maybe she's back in Haven right now, safe and sound.

Of course it stings a little that she left me behind.

I grab one of the backpacks and load it full of weapons that I pick up from among the dead. I tuck handguns and knives into my belt and boots, defending myself as well as I can. Then I grab a roll of gauze and wrap it around my pounding head to staunch the steady drip of blood from the back of my skull. Content that I'm as well off as I'll get, I make one last circuit of the room just in case I missed Audrey under some table or something, and then I leave.

It's nearly dark out now - I must've been out for quite a while - and I skirt carefully through the hospital, more than a little bit paranoid. On the ground floor I run into a stray Corpse and I take it out with a knife to avoid making more noise than I have to. The last thing I want is to attract any more. Odds are I won't make it back to Haven alive anyway but that's no reason to make it harder on myself.

When I slip out of the back of the hospital my eyes are instantly drawn to the van we arrived in, which is still parked near the doors. I frown. If Audrey survived, wouldn't she have taken it? I jog over and peer inside, checking for Corpses or to see if maybe she's hiding inside. It's empty except for a water bottle and a few blankets.

"Audrey, where are you?" I wonder aloud. If she's dead... My chest seizes at the very thought and I have to brace myself against the side of the van as my knees threaten to buckle beneath me.

There's nothing for it. I climb into the driver's side of the van and am grateful to see that the keys are still in the ignition. I can only hope that Audrey found another way home, because the idea of her being dead is too much to bear. She's my best friend, the closest thing I have ever had to family. A hell of a lot closer than my real family, for sure. I send out one last prayer for her safety and then shift the van into drive and set off into the darkness.

It's a long, quiet, lonely drive north toward the Haven Compound. I drive slowly and keep an eye out for movement as I travel but the only figures that I spot are Corpses that stumble toward the van before I move on. My heart has settled into a painful, dull ache by the time that the Compound walls appear on the horizon at sunrise._ Please, please let her be in there._

I pull up in front of the garage doors and am stopped by the hulking beast of a guard who comes through the doors. I see him squint through the windscreen and he frowns, approaching the window. "Dwight, did Audrey make it back?" I ask before he can say anything.

"No, isn't she with you?" he responds uneasily. "Where is everyone else?"

Panic seizes hold of my chest and I can't fight back a wave of nausea. Throwing the van door open, I lean out and vomit onto the dirt path. I feel a heavy hand land on my back but all I can think about is Audrey. She's gone. Gone. She didn't make it back. She's gone. I'm alone. She's dead. Dead.

"Audrey," I moan through bile-coated lips, and then the ground comes rushing up to meet me as everything in me gives out.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

**AUDREY**

I come to slowly, the exhaustion still pulling down heavily on my eyelids. It's the feeling of being watched that finally forces me to open my eyes. I find myself staring straight into a pair of blue-gray eyes and I startle in surprise. Across the room, the Corpse twitches slightly and looks away a bit too obviously, as if it's trying to hide the fact that it was staring. The action is so juvenile and stunningly human that it puts me off guard.

There's something so different about this Corpse and it scares me as much as it fascinates me.

"I want to go home," I say pitifully, half to myself and half to it. I miss home and Duke and Chris. I don't know if either of them are alive, if either of them made it home. I just want this whole thing to be over.

The Corpse - which I've started calling Cheekbones in my head due to its killer facial structure - sits up straighter and shakes its head. Pointing at the window, it chokes out, "N-not s-ss-afe."

"You keep saying that," I spit out angrily. Cheekbones stares back at me like a kicked puppy, dipping its head uncertainly and shrugging. God, it doesn't even speak in full sentences and it's more emotive than most humans I know. Sighing, I drag a hand back through my tangled hair and then pull the blanket more snugly around my shoulders. It smells like must and dank, but it's warm and soft enough.

"Well I'm hungry," I say finally. Cheekbones' eyes widen and it tilts its head to the side like the subject confuses it. "I'm hungry. If you're going to make me stay here, I need to eat. And real food, not your food."

Cheekbones nods and shuffles awkwardly to the door. In the frame it pivots around and lifts a finger, pointing at me determinedly. "St-stay," it says and points at the ground in front of me again. "S-safe." It gives me one more pointed look and then turns and leaves, closing the door firmly behind it.

The moment Cheekbones is gone, I stand up and bolt to the window. I watch as it shambles off around the edge of the building and toward the road. From here I can see it crossing the road through the half-blocked front window. It's gone. If I'm making a break for it, now's the time.

I pick up the long-handled screwdriver I'd found yesterday and tuck it into my belt loop. It'll make a good weapon if I run into any Corpses. I open the door carefully, peering through the crack, but I don't see any Corpses. Slipping out, I inch around the edge of the building and along the alley.

The main road is going to be dangerous and more exposed, but it'll be the easiest way to get out of town. I can follow the road back to the highway, and the highway all the way back to the other city. If I'm lucky I'll find a car somewhere along the way and I can drive it at least part of the way. Even if I don't make it back to the Compound, I've got to try. I can't just stay here and wait to be eaten by some insane, doe-eyed Corpse.

I sprint down two blocks of the narrow path behind the shops, waiting for some other way to get back to the main road but there's no other alleys branching off. Ahead the path curves and then opens up into an enormous park circle. There are a handful of Corpses staggering around on the dried grass. "Shit," I hiss, pulling out the screwdriver and adjusting my grip on it.

To the left I can see the road I need to get back to the main street, but there's two Corpses between me and there. If I'm quick and quiet, I can duck behind that bench. Staying low to the ground, I race forward to the upturned bench, sliding to a stop behind it. I press myself low to the ground and peek through one of the holes in the bench, checking to see if I've been noticed. Nothing. Grinning triumphantly, I dodge sideways to the shelter of a crashed car.

I prop myself up to look through one of the missing windows. A Corpse is turning my direction, its head lifted. It sniffs the air deliberately and then its head cocks to the side like an eager bird. My heart plummets; it's caught my scent. If it had just heard me I might've been able to sneak away, but once a Corpse has your scent...

The Corpse moans loudly and after a few minutes there were two responding groans. I tip my head to look again and see that there are several more Corpses joining the first. Damn it. The three of them start to shuffle toward my hiding place and I feel my heart pounding. There's got to be some place to go, somewhere I can run to. I could maybe take down three Corpses on my own but I'd have to be lucky and so far that's not been in my cards.

I'm just considering making a break for the road and taking my chances, and then a hand lands on my shoulder. I yelp in alarm as the hand turns me around and there's a flash of pale skin and foggy eyes.

Foggy blue eyes wide with panic. _Cheekbones._

It glares at me like I'm a child that's done something wrong. "I s-said, not s-s-afe," it hisses under its breath, kneeling close to me to share my shelter.

"I know but-" I start but Cheekbones puts a finger to its lips. It rises up on its knees and looks around, its brow furrowed. It crouches back beside me again, dipping its fingers into the deep cut left behind from where I threw the knife at it yesterday. This time it looks at me and its hand hovers in front of my face, hesitating like it's waiting for my permission. I nod slightly and it immediately smears the brown sludge down the side of my face and neck.

"C-come," it says and offers me a hand as it stands up. I stand up uncertainly, drawing close to its side for protection. The other Corpses fixate on us immediately. Cheekbones starts walking and leans toward me. "Be, d-dead."

"What?" I ask in surprise. Cheekbones lifts its arms and staggers forward with an overly-loud groan. "Oh, right." I copy its movements, lifting my arms in front of me and moaning. I shuffle my feet, twisting my weight more onto one leg than the other, and growl.

Cheekbones pauses and looks at me, one eyebrow lifted (I didn't even know Corpses can _move_ their eyebrows!). "T-too much."

Blushing, I tone back the groaning and shuffle in its shadow. Two of the other Corpses follow us at a distance, the third losing interest. Cheekbones leads the way back down the alley and then lets us into his little shop, shutting the door promptly behind me. "I t-told you not s-s-safe," it says and it almost sounds scared.

"I know but - I can't stay here," I say desperately. "I wanna go home."

Cheekbones looks at the door and shakes its head. "N-not safe."

I sigh in frustration, slumping back against the wall and crossing my arms. "Fine, but I really am hungry," I say in defeat. "I haven't eaten in like two days."

Cheekbones scrutinizes me for a minute and then he nods. "'K-kay."

* * *

**N**

In the end I don't trust her not to rabbit on me again, so I bring her with me. Her playing-dead is barely passable and a bit too dramatic, but she doesn't attract too much attention as we head to the building across the street. I guess it must've been some kind of grocer's because its full of shelves lined with cans and the stench of rotting food. The place has obviously been ransacked a time or two before, but there are enough things left behind to keep Audrey entertained.

I follow behind her as she wanders up and down the shelves, occasionally humming in excitement as she piles a can into the cheap plastic basket she picked up near the door. I have no idea what she is finding that makes her so happy, but she's enjoying it so I let her at it. Perhaps she'll explain it to me when we get back to the house.

A groan from the back of the store makes me pause and I grab her arm. "T-time to go," I say and tug her in the direction of the broken front of the grocer's. She carries her basket with her as we make our way back across to my bookshop house. The moment we're inside she sits down in her corner and pulls out one of the cans. She jams the screwdriver she's been hefting around with her through the aluminium and wedges the top off.

"Mmm, peaches," she says eagerly, picking out a wiggly orange thing and popping it into her mouth. "God, I haven't eaten peaches in forever. We don't grow them in the Compound." I stand in front of her, watching her curiously. It's interesting to watch a human eat. It's less gory than when a Corpse eats for sure and she makes such enthusiastic faces. The peaches she's eating don't look very tasty though, wiggly, squishy little things. Peaches. I don't remember what peaches were like. I wonder if I liked them Before.

Audrey looks up at me and I turn, trying to pretend that I wasn't watching her devour an entire can of peaches with zeal. I think it makes her uncomfortable when I watch her. Is it weird that I like to watch her? Am I weird? That's probably a stupid question. Of course I'm weird. I'm a Corpse with a living roommate.

I try to think if I have any food in here. I wander over to desk where my record player sits and I look around behind the desk. There's a huge cooler that's been there since I moved into the place, and if I remember right... I open the top and look in at the collection of bottles that are laying in a tangled heap. I grab one that isn't broken and carry it back, offering it out to her hopefully.

"Oh wow," she says and takes the bottle. She twists it to examine the faded label on the front of the brown glass. "_Moose Head_. Never heard of this brand, must be a local brew." She pops the top off with the screwdriver and takes a long sip. "Mmm, not bad though. Wow I can't even remember the last time I had a beer. Probably before I made it to the Compound."

She cracks open another can of the squishy, wet fruit and settles it down next to the bottle of beer. Glancing up at me, she smiles a bit exasperatedly. "You can sit down, you know." I grunt and sit down opposite her, leaning my back against the end of one of the shelving units. She tilts her head and looks at me. "You know, you're not all that bad, Cheekbones."

I frown. Cheekbones? Is that what she calls me? I lift a hand and run it along my left cheek. Yeah, okay, so I suppose I have prominent cheekbones, but really? That's hardly a name, even for a Corpse. That's not even a good name for a pet. "I h-have, a na-ame," I tell her indignantly.

Audrey's eyes widen. "Really? You have a name? What is it?"

Shit, I clearly didn't think this all the way through. Right, I have a name but I don't remember it. That's a bit of a problem. Well, nothing for it. I'll just have to jump in and pray that it comes to me. "Nnnn..." Damn it, not cool. "Nnnnn..."

"Nnn?" Audrey echoes questioningly. "So, does your name start with N then?" Oh thank god, she got it. "Uhm, Nick?" I frown. "Norman? Maybe, Noah? Neil?" Yeah, definitely not any of those. Jesus this is not going well. I kind of want to die all over again. "Look, why don't I just call you N then?"

I feel the corner of my lips pull up. Holy crap I'm smiling. Right? That's what this is. Corpses don't smile, but I'm smiling. Because having N for a name is better than nothing. And better than Cheekbones, as flattering as that was. I mean, I think it was supposed to be flattering. But I have a name now, a name we picked together. "Ehnn," I say, trying it out. "N." I nod. N will do.

"Good," she says and her smile fades. "N, I wanna go home."

No! No, she can't go home. She can't leave me. "N-not safe."

"I know, that's what you keep saying," she says in frustration. "But it's never going to be safe for me here, N. Not this deep into the Dead Zone." The Dead Zone? Is that what they call our cities? Well it's not totally inaccurate I suppose. I mean we're undead, technically, but it works. "I need to go home, that's the only place I'll be safe. And you brought me here, so I know you can get me out again."

Damn it, she has a point. I can keep her safe here, but for how long? After a while the others will inevitably catch her scent. If they smell her in here all unwritten rules of not touching each others' stuff will go straight out the window. And I can fight off a couple Corpses but if they all come at once we're both screwed.

But she can't leave yet. I need time. Time to figure out just what it is about her that's so special. That makes me almost feel. I need to make her stay for a couple days more at least. "F-few days," I say. "Th-they forg-get. Then you c-can go." Wow, not bad. Those were almost like sentences.

"Few days, huh?" she asks, staring at me shrewdly. I nod, trying to keep up a poker face. She has to stay, just a bit longer. "Okay, a few days," she agrees. "I will stay for a few days. But after that you have to let me go home."

"I-I'll, take you," I agree. I have to help her, make sure that she makes it all the way home. That's the only way she stands a chance, and I have to know that she's okay. I can't live with myself otherwise. "Deal?" I hold out my hand.

Audrey surveys it for a second and then slips her hand into mine. It feels warm, almost hot against my cool skin, and for a minute all I can do is marvel at the fact that I can feel that. I can tell the difference in the temperature. Corpses don't feel temperature. Corpses don't feel anything. But I feel her. And then she squeezes my hand before pulling it away, and the moment is broken.

"Deal," she says. "So... What exactly is a girl supposed to do around here for a couple days?"


	8. Chapter 8

AN: Happy Valentine's Day!

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

**AUDREY**

It turns out that N is pretty good at keeping me entertained. This comes mainly from its severe hoarding issues. I mean there is literally _everything_ inside this little shop. I could probably pass almost the entire few days here just by examining every item on the worse-for-wear shelves. As it is, I have already spent most of the first day doing exactly that.

"You have a lot of stuff," I comment. I pause as I spot something stuck into the back of the shelf and I pull it out, careful not to knock down the set of champagne flutes and piece of a tarnished gold chess set in front of it. It's a small, leather-bound book, the surname 'Brauer' stamped on the front in flaking, gold script. "Like, a lot."

N has been following me at a distance all day, five steps behind me at all times but trying not to look like it's tailing me. The whole thing is kind of cute, in an innocent puppy sort of way. "I c-collect," it says, picking up a porcelain doll. The face has been half-broken off and it's missing an arm, but N cradles it in its hands like it's the most precious thing on earth. "I l-like stuff."

"I can see that," I say with a smile. I flip open the book I found and my eyes widen. It's a photo album. Some of the pages are torn or water damaged, and the bottom corner and edge are stained an ominous maroon, but several of the pictures are still intact. Most of them are of two people; an auburn-haired woman with a lean face and a man with a hard jaw and sandy hair. There are photographs of him in an army uniform, of her in front of a cute little antique shop, of the both of them at their wedding, and later standing in front of a tiny cottage house on the hill. "Oh wow, these are amazing."

N wanders closer to peer over my shoulder and it narrows its eyes as it scrutinises the photographs. I continue to turn pages slowly, looking at each little glimpse into the lives of this couple. It feels like a storybook, like a children's tale full of pictures, but it strikes me that these are real people. People who are out there somewhere, who were alive once. Maybe still are. "I wonder what happened to them," I muse aloud.

"C-corpse," N says and pokes at the photograph of the man.

"How do you know?" I ask in surprise.

N looks down at the porcelain doll and its lips pull down at the corners. "See h-him, 'round," it says and gestures vaguely at the window.

"You recognise him?" I ask curiously.

"H-hangs out up r-r-road," it says. "N-not fruh-end." It bares its teeth and growls, and then shakes its head.

"I didn't realise there are friendly Corpses," I say with a faint laugh. I glance up and N is honest-to-God pouting, its lower lip sticking out slightly and its eyes downcast. "I mean apart from you, obviously. You're - different. You're not like all the others."

"M... 'm weird," N says with a shrug.

I laugh, closing the photo album and putting it back where I found it. "That you are, my friend," I agree in amusement. N doesn't seem offended by that and as I set off down along the shelf again it continues to follow me. "So why do you keep all this stuff? I mean, judging by the dust you don't exactly use it."

N shrugs. I glance up at it expectantly and it shrugs again before finally answering. "Keep s-safe," it says finally.

"Like you keep me safe?" I ask interestedly, giving up on my search for a minute. This is more interesting.

"I t-try," N says with the faintest hint of a smile playing around its lips.

The comment catches me so off-guard I can't help but break out in giggles. "Look at you, making jokes," I tease to cover my awe. "A Corpse with a sense of humour. That's a new one." Shaking my head, I turn around and go back to browsing the shelves again until it gets dark out and I can't see well enough to keep going.

I walk back over to the little area I've set up for myself in the corner. I sit down and rummage through the stack of cans in the half-light, trying to decide what to have for dinner, and finally settle on a can of fruit cocktail. Just as I've opened the can N brings me another bottle of the local brew beer and I smile gratefully as I pop the cap off.

While I'm eating, N wanders over to the large desk in the front of the shop and puts a new vinyl on the record player. It crackles and then a familiar strain comes out and I can't help but beam. "Guns and Roses," I say in approval. "Very nice choice."

N smiles - it doesn't smile so much with its mouth, but with a spark in its eyes and the way it carries its head a little higher. "G-guns 'n r-r-roses," it echoes.

"It's the name of the band," I explain, pinching a bright red cherry between my fingers and popping it into my mouth. "They're great. I used to listen to them all the time, but I could only do it at school. The nuns didn't like rock music. Devil's music, they called it." I huff and shrug. "A bit stupid in hindsight, thinking music was going to ruin us and now we're in the middle of all this."

N shuffles over and sits down in front of me, its eyes wide and curious. "N-nuns?"

"They're church ladies," I say. "Women who devoted their lives to serving God and all that. I was raised in an orphanage run by nuns. They were super strict. I used to get into trouble all the time, just stupid things like listening to music I shouldn't or bringing home candy from school. Things like that." I look up at N, who is watching me with the Corpse equivalent of rapt fascination. "Do you remember anything from before you became a Corpse? I mean, you remember part of your name, so I was just wondering..."

N shakes its head. "Just N." It pauses and glances at the record player, which has moved on to a soft ballad. "S-sometimes, m-m-music."

"You remember the music?" I ask in surprise. "Like the songs?"

"The sound," it says. "They f-f-feel, in here." It places a hand flat against its chest and closes its eyes. "Fam-mil-liar. And here - " it touches its forehead, "like they th-hh-here but I c-can't..."

"Like you can almost remember, but you can't," I finish. N opens its eyes and nods earnestly. "It's like a dream. You wake up and you can remember the feeling of it, but you can't quite remember what it was."

N shrugs. "D-don't dr-r-ream."

"Oh, right," I say, awkwardly toying with a bit of pear. "I forgot." Sometimes N acts so human I forget it's a Corpse. There's a long, drawn-out silence as I finish off the can of fruit and when I finally look up again N is still just watching me. It doesn't seem like my slip bothered it any.

When I don't start talking, N cocks its head to the side and says, "T-tell me 'bout you."

"About me?" I ask, shocked. "There's not much to say. I mean, what would you want to know? My middle name's Prudence, self-inflicted at my Confirmation. I didn't have my first kiss until I was eighteen. My favourite singer is Ray Charles." N narrows its eyes and I laugh at the almost suspicious look. "Okay, fine, it's Justin Timberlake."

"F-family?" N asks.

"Never had any," I admit, leaning back against the stack of pillows I nicked from around the shop - sleeping against the wall had not been comfortable and if I was sticking around for a few more days I wanted somewhere softer to sleep. "I was at the orphanage from birth, no one ever came to claim me. I was in and out of foster homes but I never stayed at one long and I hated them all. I kind of have an adopted family at the Compound - the city where I live. Haven, they call it, but I think that's stupid.

"Duke is my best friend and he's kind of like my brother, he's probably the person I'm closest to in the whole world. Then there's Vince. He and his brother took Duke and I in when we were half-dead, they saved us. But Dave died two years ago. He turned and Vince had to shoot him. He's been different since then. I guess I don't blame him. And then there's Chris, he's my boyfriend." I stop, faltering. "He died at the hospital, I think. I heard his scream and I never saw him come back up."

There's a question that's been nagging at the back of my mind since that moment and I finally get up the nerve to ask it. "N, if he did die, Chris, will he come back as one of you?" N shakes its head, blue-gray eyes wide. I feel a heavy weight settle in my stomach and I nod. "That's good, I guess. I mean, he wouldn't want it, he'd want to rest in peace I think. I think maybe I was just sort of hoping that he would, that he would be like you. Not completely gone, you know?"

I sigh and lean back against the wall, folding my arms over my chest. I suddenly feel cold even though the temperature hasn't changed. "I think I always knew this moment would come, you know? That he would die someday. I mean we all will, eventually. He's just been so reckless since his dad died. I think I was almost expecting it. And it's not that I'm not sad that he's gone, because I am. It's just - I think I've been preparing for it for a long time."

I can feel tears burning at the corners of my eyes and I hastily rub them away with the back of my wrist. When I've finished I look up and N is gone. The music suddenly cuts out as N lifts the record off and puts it away. After a moment it pulls out a different one, mouths like it's blowing the dust off, and then puts it on the player. N nudges the needle several times until it seems to find the right song and then comes back over to sit down in front of me. It tilts its head at the record player and I take the hint, listening to the eighties song as it begins.

_If I could find a way  
__To soothe your troubled mind  
__Then I would erase your fears  
__And help you to unwind.  
__I would ease the burden  
__That you carry everyday.  
__Oh, don't you know I'd find a cure  
__And take your pain away._

I look up at N and find myself trapped in that intense stare. N places a hand on its chest, then reaches out and presses its palm over my heart. Somehow, without any words, N has expressed an emotion beyond anything I've ever heard a human say. And once again, I can't help but ask it.

"What _are_ you?"

* * *

**N**

I wish she'd stop asking me that question. It makes me feel like even more of a freak than I already am. It's bad enough that I'm a flesh-eating monster but it turns out I can't even do that right. I have to be the weird one. The one who doesn't do things the way he's supposed to.

What am I? I'm a Corpse, but a slightly defective one at that. I'm a collector - a hoarder, she called me. I'm a music lover. I'm lonely. So I shrug, because that's the only answer I have for her. I don't know exactly what I am.

Not to be too existential, but does _anyone_ know who they are, really?

"You shrug a lot," Audrey says with a trace of amusement. I'm just glad that the sadness is gone from her face, that there's no longer pools of water brimming at the edge of her bottom lashes. "That's such a non-committal response. You may only speak in mono-syllables, but would it kill you to at least try and give real answers?"

I shrug and Audrey lets out a long-suffering sigh. "Now you're just being an ass," she says, shaking her head. She sets aside her empty food can and the bottle, and then settles back into her little nest. I watch in interest as she adjusts the pillows around her and wraps the blanket around her shoulders.

"I-it's-s ha-ard," I admit. Audrey pauses and looks up, her brow pulling down in confusion. "T-to talk." I gesture limply at my uncooperative throat and shrug again. It's hard to explain to someone how something that seems so simple can be so difficult for me; that those muscles she uses without thinking have atrophied in me and it takes a great deal of effort to get them to even move in that way again.

"Oh," Audrey's eyes soften and she nods. "You're right, I'm sorry. I just - it's so fascinating to hear you talk. I didn't think Corpses could, you know? Apart from grunting and moaning and stuff. And you are getting better actually. Maybe you're just out of practice."

I'm getting better? I think about it and she's got a point. When I first met her it was hard enough to say just her name and now I can speak in almost full sentences. "Mmmay-be," I agree, the corner of my lip twitching upward again.

Audrey smiles and wraps her blanket more tightly around herself. "Okay well I'm going to get some sleep," she says.

I stand up, taking the hint, and rub my palms awkwardly against my jeans. "Go-oo-od night, Audrey."

She looks up and her grin is bright in the darkness. "Goodnight, N."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

**N**

Audrey makes a lot of noise in her sleep. They are just soft little whimpers and squeaks, but I don't like hearing them. I think it's because she's sad. She is hurting because her boyfriend is dead. God, if she finds out I'm the one who killed him...

I need to find something to make her feel better. Something to keep her mind off her boyfriend and to keep her here. Something interesting. I slump down in my nest of blankets. She's already looked at all of the greatest things I have in here. She even explained what a few of the things are; I honestly didn't know what a majority of the things on my shelves are, I just collected them because they looked interesting. Because they had been important to someone once, and they need to be preserved.

So what else do I know of that can keep her attention? Maybe there's something outside the shop that I can bring to her. I glance at her. She's curled up deep under her blanket, murmuring softly in her sleep. It's still early in the night so I've got plenty of time. All I know is I can't think with her sad little sounds, they make me uneasy. I think it's a feeling but I can't say which one. Besides, that's ridiculous; Corpses don't feel.

I stand up and walk to the door, stopping to check that my steps don't wake her before letting myself out. It's dark outside but it's not difficult for me to see. One of the few perks of being a Corpse, I imagine. As far as I can tell, humans have a much harder time with the dark. The Boneys are out in full force tonight and I make an effort to give them a wide berth. God they are so gross. And they all seem to be staring at me tonight. How do they even stare without eyes? I never really thought about that before. Weird.

I wander through all of the unoccupied buildings around my home, searching for anything new that might hold Audrey's attention for another few days. I find a few odd trinkets, a book with a rose on the cover, and a pair of sunglasses, but nothing all that fascinating. It's almost sun-up when I give up and go back to my house.

The door shuts harder than I mean for it to and Audrey bolts awake with a startled noise. She blinks owlishly even as she sits up in a defensive position. "Oh, it's you," she says and relaxes. She yawns and pulls her blanket back up over her shoulders. "What were you doing?"

I set down the snow-globe I picked up from one of the buildings. "Collllecting," I say and begin emptying my new things from my pockets. I pull out a green bottle destined for the windowsill and then an idea occurs to me. I hastily set down the bottle and then stand in the open space in the middle of the shop. "Awh-dree," I say and gesture for her to join me. "Come."

"What?" she asks, her tired face screwing up in confusion.

"Come," I say more insistently. Sunrise will be here any minute. I lay down on the floor and pat the spot beside me. "Come s-see."

"See what?" she asks, but she finally walks over. I give her a significant look – as pointed as I can with my half-functioning facial muscles anyway – and she lays down with a sigh. "Okay, what am I supposed to be seeing?"

I point at the ceiling and say, "W-watch."

We lay in the morning quiet and as I wait for the sunrise I try to catalogue her presence for my memories. She breathes slowly; in through her mouth, out through her nose. Beneath the scent of human – flesh and blood and sweat – there is a subtle, softer smell. Floral and crisp. She smells like brightness and white and purple and _life_. She smells like all the good things that are leaving this world; like the pretty things I collect just to remember the world used to be good.

Mostly though I focus on her hand. It's laying on the floor just centimetres from mine, but I can feel something. It's a tingling warmth in my knuckles and barely there but it's magic. My skin is somehow aware of her proximity and reacting. I can _feel_ something.

"N, what-?"

"Ssshh," I say, putting a finger to my lips and then pointing up again. Any second now...

The first rays of the sun creep over the horizon and into the window. They catch in the bits of coloured glass and fabric, bathing multicoloured light across the plaster ceiling. As the sun continues to inch upward the lights change and shift like a kaleidoscope.

Next to me, Audrey gasps. "N, this is amazing," she says. I turn my head and watch the look of awe on her face. "It's beautiful. Did you come up with it on your own?"

I grunt an affirmative, a swell of something in my chest. Pride? "L-like, colour," I say. "Pretty. _Alive_."

Audrey grabs my wrist and I almost flinch at the sudden warmth against my cold skin. Cold. I didn't even know my skin was cold until she touched me. I am cold and she is warm and soft and gentle. "You're so amazing," she says and squeezes my wrist. "You're so – _different_." She sits up and looks down at me, cocking her head to the side. "Are there others like you?"

I shrug. If there are other Corpses like me I don't know it. It's not like we have a support group or anything. Corpses Anonymous, isn't that a grand idea?

Audrey doesn't push the subject and she relaxes back onto her arms. "So where do you go when you're not here?" she asks. I lift an eyebrow. "What? You're a Corpse with a house and a collection and hobbies, and you expect me to believe that you don't have a haunt? You've got to have some place where you like to hang out."

And suddenly I know exactly what will keep her attention for a few days.

* * *

**AUDREY**

I flick curiously through the shelf of vinyl records that N has collected, appraising the titles and artists. Honestly, it's a pretty great collection. There must've been a good record store nearby that he's raided to get all of these. There was a really nice one in Ohio that I used to visit when I lived there but I could never buy anything. The nuns didn't exactly give us an allowance. These though – these are _really_ great.

I stand up and examine the record that's sitting on the player. N had put it on last night just as I was falling asleep and the crooning woman's voice had lulled me to sleep. Curious, I turn it so I can read the label. _Patsy Cline._ The name sounds familiar but I don't think I'd ever listened to it before. Her voice somehow made me think of melancholy and my dreams had been sad, memories of the people I've lost haunting me.

I can't help but wonder if that's the reason N picked it. Despite the fact that he's a Corpse, he seems to have a better understanding of human emotions that most humans do. I think maybe he knew that I was sad and he found music to emulate that. It wouldn't be the first time he'd done it. In fact, the more I think about it, every time he has chosen a record since I've come here, the music has somehow echoed the way I feel.

I glance at the door and wonder just where N has gone. I asked him where he liked to hang out and after telling me to wait here he had vanished. I had no idea what he's up to, but he's been gone a while now.

Just as I'm thinking that, the door opens and N slips in. His gaze lands on me and he nods. "Come."

"What were you doing?" I ask curiously, putting the record back in place and crossing the room to his side.

"Mmaking sure, safe," he says. He leans out of the door and checks both directions before gesturing for me to follow him. "N-no Corpses."

My eyes widen in surprise as I realise what he means. He was checking to make sure that the path to wherever this special place is is clear of Corpses. He's going to take me there and he was making sure I'm safe. I stay close behind him as he leads the way down the alley behind the shop. We move quietly down a series of side streets and back alleys until we finally reach a dead end alley hidden behind an overgrown bush. In it is an ancient blue Bronco parked facing the back fence.

N stops and gestures at the truck with his eyes wide. "Hhhere," he says and then opens the driver's side door. "I th-think here."

"In a truck?" I ask. I run a hand along the chipped and rusting paint of the truck's body. "It's a beautiful truck. Classic. Kind of like your taste in music." N smiles and nods at the open door. I walk over and climb into the seat, placing my hands on the steering wheel. "I miss driving."

"W-what does it fee-eel like?" N asks, leaning against the open door and tilting his head questioningly.

"Driving?" I ask and he nods. "It's such a rush. You're just cruising, fast. Flying over the ground, the wind rushing in your hair. It feels like _freedom_." I look over and N has his eyes closed, a look of almost serenity on his face. I brush my fingertips around the circle of the steering wheel and smile. "You know, this truck is in pretty good shape. If we can find a few new parts, we can probably get it running again."

N's eyes snap open and lock on me with a frightening intensity. "F-fix it?" he asks and something in his fragmented speech sounds eager.

"Well sure," I say, climbing down out of the truck. I walk around and lift the hood, squinting in at the dusty interior mechanics. "It looks like the engine and that are all still here. I'm no mechanic so I can't promise anything, but I think it really just needs a new battery."

"Can f-find that," N says, coming around to stand beside me. He squints at the engine and I can see his eyes scouring over every detail of the mechanics with rapt fascination. "W-what is it?"

"This here," I say, standing on my toes to point at the square truck battery. "It's what gives power to the truck. If there's an auto shop around here somewhere, they probably have some of these sitting around still. It may take a few tries to find one that still has any juice but it's a shot."

The hopeful look that appears in N's puppy-dog eyes would melt even the hardest of hearts.

"So, do you know of any car parts shops around here then?" I ask, resigning myself to repairing the truck now. There's no way I can turn him down after that look. It's a good thing I've picked up on some basic car mechanics' training in the Compound, because I never learned anything about it living in the orphanage. Thankfully the Compound is pretty insistent on everyone learning a little bit of everything so we can be useful wherever we're most needed at the time.

"You s-stay ho-mmme," N says, frowning.

"Like hell," I answer. "You'll need my help finding out which one will work for this truck. You can't read, can you?" N dips his head. "Exactly. You need to be able to read the labels to know which one is the right type. So I'm coming with."

To my shock, N rolls his eyes. The gesture is so incredibly human I can't help but laugh and shake my head. "Fine," he says and folds his arms over his chest. "S-stay close. Quiet."

"I will," I agree. "It's not like I want to be eaten, N." He nods, a look of reluctant acceptance on his face. "Okay, Cheekbones, lead the way." N grumbles something, presumably about the nickname, and rubs his face almost self-consciously.

Before I can say anything – _did I really just hurt a Corpse's feelings_? - he rubs his fingers into the still-open wound in his sternum and traces them down the sides of my neck. I grimace at the smell of the congealed blood but I know it's necessary. He explained yesterday that it masks the scent of my living blood and it works best by putting it over my pulse point where the smell is strongest. I don't know how he learned this, or if it was just a lucky guess, but it's kept me alive so far so I'm not about to question his methods.

N sets off back down the alley with a vague motion that I should follow him. I keep close in his shadow as we walk, trying to imitate his shuffling limp on the chance that we happen across any other Corpses. It's not until the main road that we actually see anyone else and the male zombie ignores us as he continues to scratch aimlessly at a wooden door. I want to ask N what that Corpse is doing but I can't risk talking now so I save the question for later.

A few blocks away from the alley we come across a dilapidated AutoZone. Nearly all of the windows that front the building are broken out and it's clearly been pillaged a time or two, but there's still stuff inside. N and I go in through an empty windowpane and I immediately head for the back wall, where a row of shelves stand beneath a hanging sign that says 'Batteries.' More than half of them are missing but there's a wide enough supply left that we may be in luck.

"Here we are," I say, stopping in front of a section of large truck batteries. One of them is leaking acid onto the floor, burned clean through its plastic casing, and two more have been damaged beyond use, but there are three that look like they might be usable. "I have no idea which ones have any power left in them, so we should probably take them all. Help me carry them? They're kind of heavy."

N nods and picks up two of the batteries by the cheap plastic handles. I hoist the last one into my arms and we head back to the alley. It's slow going with the extra weight and we have to take a detour around a cluster of Corpses that have gathered on the main road. My arms are aching by the time we make it back to the hidden alleyway.

"Alright," I say, wiping off my hands on my stained jeans. "Let's see what we can do with this thing."

N and I pass a good two hours fitting in the new batteries and testing each of them. The first one doesn't work at all and the second one chugs but won't hold the charge once we turn the ignition. It's not until the third one that we get any real spark of life in the engine. N's eyes brighten at the deep, throbbing hum of the engine trying to run.

"This is the one," I say earnestly. "Looks like there's a few more things we'll need though. This truck's been abandoned here for a while. Needs some new oil, might want to change out the spark plugs and fuses if we can find some. Thankfully it looks like whoever was driving left it with a nearly full tank though so that's nice."

"We n-need to go b-back?" N asks.

"Yeah, but first I need some lunch," I say. "I'm starved. We'll go back for the other things after."

N nods and escorts me back to his shop/house. I dig through my basket of food and finally settle on cold tinned beans. Mmm, gotta love the wonder of preservatives and tinning, food can last forever. I pry the lid open with the screwdriver and eat, watching N browsing through his record collection.

"N, can I ask you a question?" I ask between mouthfuls.

"Jus-st did," N responds with a small quirk of his bluish lips.

"Smart ass," I say, laughing.

N's lips lift a little higher and he seems to finally settle on an album. "Ask," he says as he puts the record onto the player.

"Do you have to eat people?"

N doesn't answer for a minute, focusing on getting the vinyl started. He closes his eyes through the crackle and thump, and then finally turns to look at me when the rock ballad begins. "Yes."

"Or else you'll die," I guess and he nods. "What about healing, do you heal? I mean, you've got all those injuries," I say, my eyes lingering on the brown stained hole in his shirt from where I'd thrown my knife at him. "Do you feel them? I mean, does it hurt?"

"No," he says simply. "I d-don't feel."

"You don't feel pain at all?" I ask. I mean, we've always had suspicions. When you shoot something in the chest and it just keeps coming, odds are the injury doesn't bother it. But it's not like we've ever had a chance to ask one for sure.

"D-don't _feel_ at all," he corrects, frowning.

"You can't feel anything?" I ask in awe. I've never really considered that possibility before. What would it be like, going through life without feeling anything around you?

N rubs his hands together as he walks over and sits down in front of me. "N-nothing," he says.

"I'm sorry, that's so sad," I say. "I can't even imagine what that must be like."

N shrugs again. "Bett-ter than b-being Boney."

"Boney?" I echo. In response N hisses, imitating the shriek of the Skeletons with eerie accuracy. "Oh, the Skeletons! You call them Boneys? I like that, it fits somehow." As I consider what he says though, a frown steals across my face. "So the Boneys, they start out as Corpses?" N nods. "Does that mean – are you going to become one of them someday?"

"Mmaybe," he says, a bit furtively, picking at his fingernails. "They are C-corpses that giv-ve up."

I sigh, the injustice of it welling up in me. N is conscious and sentient, and it's not fair that he is forced to exist like this. He is kind and emotive and expressive, and yet his only options in the world are to die - either by starvation or being shot - or to become a mindless monster. He deserves better. He deserves to be alive.

"Audrey." I look up and N is watching me closely with his head tilted to the side. "Y-you are mad."

"I'm fine," I say, hastily downing the last of the beans. "C'mon, let's get back to working on that truck."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

**N**

It takes us several more hours to gather up and install the last of what Audrey thinks we need to make the truck actually run. I'm not much help with putting the stuff in place - zombie fingers and all - so I spend most of my time just watching Audrey. She is so graceful. Every move she makes has a purpose and a direction, but she moves so fluidly. I wonder if she used to be a dancer Before but I'm too shy to ask.

She talks a lot too while she's working. About _everything_. In a matter of minutes I know her favourite colour and song and movie, the top five cities she wanted to visit Before, and the foods she misses most. It's the talk about her past that hits me hardest though.

She tells me about foster homes that she lived in, about temporary families that treated her badly and poor living conditions. One particular story is the worst: a foster father with a thing for little girls. She was sent back to the orphanage after stabbing him in the neck with a pair of scissors to save another girl from his wandering hands. Most of the homes were better than that, but only just. None of these stories are happy and they all end in her returning to the orphanage.

"I don't miss those years at all," she says from her place beneath the dash where she's replacing the fuses, I think. "My eighteenth birthday was the happiest day of my life. I was so glad to finally be free. That I didn't have to go where people told me to and I could finally choose for myself. Course then all this happened and all of my plans went down the shitter."

Audrey climbs out from under the dash and grins. "Okay, I think this thing's ready to go," she says and pats the steering wheel. "Should we try her?" When I nod Audrey plants herself in the driver's seat and then pats the other side of the bench. "C'mon then."

I walk around to the passenger side and open the door - _first try, go me!_ - and awkwardly climb up next to her. Audrey shuts her door and then reaches for the keys that are still sitting in the ignition - clearly whoever owned it took off in a hurry. The engine whines and sputters several times and Audrey curses. "Come on, baby," she says and tries again.

"C'mon b-baby," I echo, rubbing the dashboard affectionately. Audrey laughs as she twists the keys again. The engine clicks, groans, and then miraculously it stutters to life. I can feel it vibrating through the whole truck as the ancient engine chugs, a bass thumping noise reverberating inside of the cab. It takes a second before the sporadic thrumming finally settles into a steady rhythm.

"Yes!" Audrey cheers eagerly, throwing her hands in the air. "We did it, N!"

I close my eyes and listen to the rolling of the engine, patterned like a heartbeat. It's alive, just like Audrey. The radio clicks on and begins playing an ancient cassette tape that's still in there, and the song that comes out makes Audrey wrinkle up her nose. "Ugh, the Captain and Tenille, really?" she says in disgust. She pushes the button so the tape pops out and silence fills the car. Audrey glances over at me and grins as she adjusts the gear shift. "Let's take her for a spin," she says.

"Sh-short," I say, looking out of the gaping windowpanes uncertainly. "N-noise might att-ttract others."

Audrey seems put-out but she nods. "Just around the block. To make sure it actually runs." I nod and she presses down lightly on the pedal. The truck groans as it inches backward, rustling through the bush at the end of the alley. The branches screech as they run along the body, scratching off more paint, and I look around nervously again.

Audrey doesn't seem perturbed as she turns into the alley and shifts the gears again. The truck begins to roll forward and the hum of the engine picks up, faster and freer. She cruises down the alley and then turns onto the roadway. As she drives us out to the main road the wind rushes through the vacant windscreen and I watch the way it blows through Audrey's golden hair, whipping it around her face.

We go twice around the block and then Audrey drives the truck back into the alleyway. The truck gutters as she turns it off and the silence left behind is almost shocking. "W-we should get in-nside," I say.

"Right, let's go," Audrey agrees. We both jump out and she follows me as I lead the way back home. It's a good thing that she still has my blood on her neck because we cross a half dozen Corpses on our way, all of them drawn in by the noise of the truck. It's a relief when I finally shut the door behind us and we're safe inside my house.

Audrey laughs, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. "That was great," she says.

"D-dangerous," I point out but she's so happy I don't bother pursuing it. After all, we're safe now so what's the harm? "F-fun."

Audrey smiles as she sits down in her heap of pillows. "It was, wasn't it?" she agrees. She pulls a can out of her food basket and wedges the lid off. Peaches again. I sit down from her, watching her as she pops one of the squishy wedges into her mouth. She glances up to find me staring at her and she cocks an eyebrow. "Want to try one?"

What the hell? It's not like it'll kill me. "Y-yes," I say. She gestures for me to hold out my hand and then lays one of the wedges on my palm. Tilting my head, I squint at the slimy wedge suspiciously and then run a finger experimentally over its thin, translucent veins. I can't feel it. I tip the slice into my mouth and bite. Sweet juices explode in my mouth and I can't stop my eyes from shooting open in surprise. It's sweet, overly so, sickeningly so. I spit it back into my palm with a frown.

Audrey laughs. "You don't like it, I take it?" she says, chewing her own slice of peach. In response I drop the half-chewed peach into a nearby bucket. "I guess it was too much to hope for, really. If you guys liked normal food you wouldn't need to eat people."

"S-sorry," I stammer, feeling like I've disappointed her. Maybe I could learn to like the peaches.

"No, it's fine," she says quickly. "It's not your fault, N. That's just the way things are. Nothing we can do about it." Her eyes drift around the room and then they narrow. "What's that?" She grabs something from the shelf and it's only when she's holding it in her lap that I recognise it; the book with the rose cover that I picked up from that house this morning. "Oh, _Romeo and Juliet_. I love this story."

"H-how does't go?" I ask curiously.

"Oh, it's beautiful," she says eagerly. "It's the epitome of tragic love stories. It's about a boy and girl from rival families who fall in love even though their families forbid it. So they make these plans to run away together but - " She pauses and examines the cover of the book for a minute. "Actually, I mean, I could read it to you. If you want. It's not that long."

"Please," I say hopefully. I've always wondered what stories are hidden away in the books on my shelves, and if she says it's a good story then it must be.

Audrey beams. "Great. Come sit then," she says and pats the floor beside the pillows she's sitting on. I move over and sit down, leaning my back against the wall. She snuggles herself down more comfortably and then opens the book to the first page. "Two households, both alike in dignity, in fair Verona, where we lay our scene..."

* * *

"...For never was a story of more woe, than this of Juliet and her Romeo."

It had gotten dark out sometime near the end of the third act - she continued to read by the light of a torch - so it's pitch black outside the windows when Audrey finally closes the book with a soft sigh. I let out a breath I didn't realise I was holding - not that breathing is necessary for me anyhow - and lean back against the wall as the tragic ending settles deep somewhere in my chest.

Audrey traces a fingertip around the rose on the cover and then glances sideways at me. "What'd you think?" she asks.

"I - It - " I frown, struggling to find words for the effect that the love story has had on me. "Sad. Here," I finally say and press my palm against my chest, over the still cavern where my heart should be beating.

To my surprise, Audrey smiles. "Yeah, it gets me every time too," she agrees. "That's why I love it so much. It just makes you _feel_ so much. Nothing does that like an impossible love." She surveys the thin book and shrugs. "But sometimes I wish it had a happier ending."

"Sad," I say again and she nods.

"But I suppose that's the way it works, isn't it?" she says and sighs. "Love stories like this don't exist in the real world, and happy ever afters don't either."

I tilt my head, watching the sadness pass across her face. The defeat in her voice is painful and I wish there is a way I can make her happy again. I touch the book she's still holding and say, "Th-thank you."

Her smile comes back as she looks up at me. "You're welcome," she says. She stares at me for a moment and I think maybe she will say something more, but then she suddenly yawns widely. When she stops she giggles. "It's late, I should probably get some sleep."

I nod and stand up. "G-goodnight," I say and then set off for my nest.

"Night, N," she says, dragging her blanket up over her shoulders.

I place a new record on the player, one of my favourites, and turn it on before I make myself comfortable in my spot. The darkness is heavy around us as I lay down and turn my head so I can watch her. Audrey is curled up in a little ball on her side, her head barely visible over the blue knitting, and the glow from the moon outside casts a bright halo around her golden hair. She is like an angel. I smile.

A sudden, sharp pain throbs in my chest and I sit up in alarm. The pain is gone as quick as it came but I massage my ribs uncertainly for several long minutes later. What was that? Pain? I don't feel pain and yet...

I stretch out again, one hand still resting over my sternum, and muse on the strange new feeling until sunrise.


	11. Chapter 11

AN: Posting this a day early because I'm about to hop on a plane for a holiday. I'm going to still try to get next week's post up on time but depending on how good the wifi is in my hotel, that may not happen. If so, I apologise in advance and I'll make it up to you when I get back, promise!

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

**AUDREY**

It has to be close to noon by the time that I finally wake up with a weary yawn. Yesterday was a long day and I had stayed up much later than I usually did. I sit up and stretch before looking around the shop for my temporary roommate. When I don't immediately see him I stand up and wander between the shelves.

"N?" I ask tentatively.

A head appears above the desk where the record player sits - currently playing some big band song - and I am surprised when I feel a tightness relax in my chest at seeing him. Shrugging it away as simply a relief at not being left alone in the middle of the Dead Zone, I walk over to see what he's doing behind the desk.

N is sitting cross legged on the floor with a sparse-looking brush clutched awkwardly in his fist. There is a collection of small paint tins sitting on the floor in front of him, the caps removed, and the white, cracked wall in front of him is streaked with different colours. The paints have blended together because he apparently doesn't wash the brush, and the lines are shaky, but it's clear he's been trying to paint.

"What are you painting?" I ask curiously, surprised by this new development. The swirling, smeared lines are almost childlike and it softens something inside of me with the pure innocence in the action.

"D-dunno," he admits, tipping his head down shyly and rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "Colours."

"Looks fun," I say and I sit down beside him, surveying the interweaving swipes of paint interestedly. In response, N pushes a can of paint full of bright yellow toward me and then offers out the brush. "You don't mind?" I ask.

The left corner of N's lips pulls up and he offers the paintbrush more insistently. "Please," he says with a nod.

"Okay," I say and I take the brush. I'm by no means an artist but I know that N won't judge me. Dipping the brush into the yellow paint, I draw a circle on the blank stretch of wall in front of me and then paint several lines coming out of it from every direction. "A sun," I explain in case N doesn't understand the primary school depiction. He makes a funny huffing noise that I think might be an attempted laugh. "Don't make fun of me," I say in mock indignation.

"Pretty," he amends, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

I laugh. "That's better." I dip the brush into the tin again and then go about signing my name underneath the sun. The R ends up looking a bit like an N but it's at least somewhat legible.

"'S'that?" N asks, poking the signature so that a spot of yellow paint comes off on his fingertip.

"My name," I say. "See. A, U, D, R, E, Y. Audrey." N scrutinises his painting and I can see the wheels spinning in his head. Holding out the paintbrush, I ask, "You want to sign your name under yours?"

"Dunno how," he says and looks down at his lap ashamedly.

"I'll show you," I say and take his hand, pressing the paintbrush into his palm. I close his hand into a fist and then wrap my hand around his thin wrist, guiding his hand. We dip the paintbrush into the yellow paint again and then I lead him to the wall. I navigate him through the motions - up, diagonal, up again - and then release his wrist with a smile. "There you go. N."

"N," he echoes, staring at the letter with something akin to awe in his foggy eyes. "Name. M-my name."

"Yeah," I agree with a smile. It's heart-warming seeing the pure wonder that is taking over his face. He looks brighter, fresher - more alive. His blue-gray eyes are wide and raptly focused on the yellow letter, and his cracked lips are twisted up at the corners. I wonder if this is more what he looked like before he turned. I can almost see the man behind the gray skin and dark veins, beneath the bruised eyes and zombie fog. With his prominent cheekbones and strong chin, he was probably pretty damn attractive.

Oh God, did I really just say a Corpse is hot? There is something so wrong with me. I need to get out of here, and soon, before I go completely crazy.

"So why are you hiding your painting back here behind the desk?" I ask, trying to get my brain back on track.

N picks at the paintbrush, his head tipped down again. "Em-mm-barras-sed," he says softly.

It takes all of my willpower not to '_awhhh_' at that. "Don't be embarrassed," I say and pat his hand lightly. "C'mon, this building could use a little more colour. What do you say?" I pick up one of the paint tins and grin. "Interior decorating, N and Audrey style?"

He looks up at me, a light in his eyes that I've never seen before, and then lifts the paintbrush with a nod. "N and Audrey."

* * *

**N**

Audrey and I spend several hours using up all of the paint tins that I've collected from the nearby hardware store. There's no patterns or sense to our painting, we just splash colours on the walls. Audrey draws childish pictures on the walls, suns and flowers and stick-figure animals. I can't manage quite such precision with my zombie-fingers so my painting is really nothing more than swirls of colour in between her pictures. Also she took the paintbrush so I've been painting with my hands. We cover the entire front wall of the shop with orange and yellow and blue - and a fair bit of brown that happens when the paints mix.

"I like it," Audrey says, stepping back to examine the wall as a whole. "It looks nice."

"Colourrrful," I agree, wiping my hands on my jeans. I glance sideways at Audrey; she's beaming, a spot of blue paint on her cheek bringing out the colour of her eyes. "Beautiful."

"Not too bad for an afternoon's work," she says with a nod. She sets the paintbrush down and rubs her palms against her jeans. She looks up at me and grins. "You're staring again, N."

"You h-have," I point at my cheek, trying to signal the spot where she's got paint.

"Paint?" she asks and scrubs her palm against the wrong cheek.

"Here." I step forward and swipe my thumb across her cheekbone. I unfortunately forgot that my hands are currently covered in paint, so all I manage to do is swipe a rainbow of blue and orange and yellow across the left side of her face. I frown. "Th-that's worse."

Audrey laughs, rubbing cheek against the sleeve of her jacket. Her skin turns a muddy brown but she gets the majority of the paint off. "It was a nice try anyway," she says and shrugs, continuing to scrub at her face with the heel of her hand. "Thanks."

I gesture at the wall and say, "Thank-ks you."

"Don't worry about it, it was fun," she says. "I'm hungry, but when I'm done you wanna read another book? You've got this really sweet collection of poetry and I've got a soft spot for Whitman. It looked like it's missing a couple pages but it should be okay." I'm tired so I simply nod. I follow her over to her nest where she settles down with a can of more squishy fruit - pale green this time.

"Pears?" she offers after she wedges the lid off. Wrinkling up my nose, I shake my head. "Still recovering from the peaches, huh?" she asks and this time I nod. "I don't blame you. I never liked pears before all this, you know? But the zombie apocalypse kind of makes you appreciate things you always took for granted before. I never thought I'd be grateful for fruit. Although you know what food I'd kill for?"

"P-pizz-zza," I answer.

Audrey giggles through a mouthful of pears. "You remember? I'm impressed."

I pick paint off my fingers. "I try."

"I haven't had a pizza since way back at the beginning of the apocalypse," she says. "Duke and I found some frozen pizzas in a supermarket not long after we met, it was so good."

"D-duke, your fr-riend?" I ask.

"Yeah," she agrees. She heads over to the desk and helps herself to one of the beers from the cooler behind the counter. It's not until she's settled back into her nest that she speaks again. "He saved my life, you know?" Surprised, I tilt my head. "Yeah, that's how we met. I was on my own before that, making my way to the coast. I'd heard that there was a sanctuary for humans there. I was on the shore of Lake Erie when I was ambushed by a bunch of Corpses. They chased me onto the pier and then I fell in. One of them tried to drag me under, and then suddenly there was Duke. He jumped in and pulled me out, brained the monster - Sorry," she adds with a wince. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Fine," I say, waving a hand in an awkward attempt to be dismissive. At the same time that word rings in my head - _monster, monster, monster..._

"Anyway, he saved me," she continues. "He had been living on his boat in the middle of the lake for a few months. I stayed with him there for a while and then we went for the Compound together. He saved my life more than once, really. Carried me the last few miles after the hunger got to me. I have no idea how we made it without getting eaten." We lapsed into silence for a minute, her swirling the pears around the can and me trying to get the paint off my hands. Oops, that was a piece of skin. Gross. "N, can I ask you something?" I open my mouth and she laughs. "And I know I already did."

"G-go 'head," I say.

"Do you remember how you died?" she asks, glancing up at me through her lashes.

"No," I say. "N-nothing. But-" I hesitate and then pull my sleeve up to my elbow. My left forearm is a misshapen mess, thick knotting scars in the shape of a narrow crescent mangling the skin.

"You were bit?" she asks, her eyebrows shooting up. She reaches out and then pauses. "Can I?" I nod. She takes my wrist and examines my arm interestedly, running her fingertips over the rippling scars. A pleasant chill rolls through me at the touch. "God, it looks painful."

I shrug. "Don't rem-m-mber."

"Ooh, tough guy," she says with a laugh. She traces her fingers along the curve again. "Really though, I hope that's not how you died. That would be a horrible way to go." She brushes her hand over my arm and then lets it go, putting her hands in her lap. "Anyway, that book," she says and she scrambles over to the shelf where I keep all of the books I've found. She pulls out a thick, leather bound book and then sits down, opening it in her lap. "How do you feel about Whitman?"

"Who?" I ask uncertainly.

Audrey beams. "I was hoping you'd say that," she says and turns a page. "Means I get to introduce you to my favourite poet."

And she reads, for hours and hours. Poems of nature and sunshine, of love and romance and sadness and heartache, of adventure and self-discovery, of life and death and eternity. She reads through pages and pages, different authors and times and places. Occasionally she reaches a place where the pages have been ruined, sometimes mid-poem, and she huffs before flipping forward and starting something new without any further comment. Her words are magic and honey, taking the little black scratches on the pages and turning them into images in my mind.

She reads until the sun goes down and it gets too dark inside the house to see the pages any longer. She tries the torch but it only lasts for three short poems before it fades, flickers, and finally dies, casting us both into deep shadows.

"I suppose that's a sign," she says with a dull laugh, dropping the torch onto the floor. "I'm tired anyway." I was aware of that - she's been yawning for over an hour now, getting closer and closer together as time passed.

"Tom-morrow?" I ask tentatively.

Audrey smiles and closes the book. "Sure, we can read some more tomorrow." She pulls her blanket up around her neck and curls down into the pillows. In the faint moonlight I can see her glancing up at me, the light a speck in her eyes. "Night, N."

"Good night, Audrey," I say, proud of myself for getting through the whole sentence without a single stammer or slur. Damn, I almost sounded _human_.

I lay in my nest and listen to the record player - a soulful record that Audrey informed me is called jazz - while I watch her drift off to sleep. She murmurs in her sleep again but this she is smiling. Happy. I wonder what it must feel like to sleep. To dream. Corpses don't dream.

But we do have the next best thing.

I pat my pocket to check that there's still some gray matter left there and then I stand up and leave the shop. I can't have Audrey catch me eating this, that might scare her away. Make it too real. I can't do that now, not when she's finally beginning to trust me. So I sneak out into the night and walk the winding alley path to where the truck is parked behind the bush. I settle myself in the driver's seat and pull out a handful of the squishy brain matter.

It's not real dreaming, but it's as close as a Corpse like me can get.

_...You can feel the adrenaline and nerves bubbling in you even though you work to keep them hidden from everyone else. You're the leader now, you need to be the strong one. You look around the supply closet and then nod. "Alright, everyone, you know how this works," you say. "We load up anything of necessity and leave the rest."_

_You watch everyone spread out across the room, each of them loading up their specified supplies. Checking the safety on your gun, you walk a circuit around the room to keep surveillance up while the others have their guard down._

_"Mm, look guys, Vicodin," Duke says brightly. "Anybody wanna split some with me?" You glare at him, trying to convey all of your annoyance through a single look, and he jumps in before you can tell him to grow up. "Oh relax, Mr. Congeniality, I'm only kidding."_

_You shake your head and go back to your work, but out of the corner of your eye you watch Audrey. Beautiful, radiant, vibrant Audrey. She's brought so much into your life. She saved you from the darkness when it was threatening to consume you._

_She suddenly lifts her head from her work, her forehead creased with concern. "Did anyone else hear that?"_

_You pause but you can't hear anything. "It's nothing, Audrey," you say, stepping up behind her._

_She scowls and pivots on her heel to face you. "We should get out of here."_

_"We can't just leave," you say firmly, giving her a pointed look. This mission is too important. The sense of duty swells in you. "You know how important these missions are. Haven needs this medicine and it's our job to gather-"_

_Audrey scoffs and waves a dismissive hand at you, walking around you and heading across the room. Tension is rolling off her in waves. "Yeah, okay Vince," she says drolly._

_Trying to ignore the barb, you say, "Flattery doesn't win arguments."_

_"I didn't mean it as a compliment," she snaps at you, busying herself with going through a box of supplies._

_There's a loud crash and you swivel toward the door. "Okay, I definitely heard it that time. Seriously, Brody, I think it's time to split," Duke cuts in suddenly._

_"It's nothing," you say but you can tell that you haven't convinced anyone, let alone yourself. You walk over to the door and peer through the glass window. The hall outside is full of furniture that's been knocked over and stray wires, but it's completely devoid of life. "Probably just the wind knocking something over, it's fine."_

_You turn around, giving Audrey a smug look. She isn't looking at you though; her eyes are fixed on something else. "Chris!"_

_You see it out of the corner of your eye and react just in time. As the door is thrown open you swing your rifle backwards, catching one of the monsters in the face. Scurrying forward, you pivot around the edge of a counter and aim. The big, dark Corpse lets out a shriek just before you blow the right side of its face off._

_Another Corpse is moving past you - a tall, lanky male - and you throw yourself up onto the countertop for a better vantage point. Sighting down the barrel, you squeeze the trigger. Its shoulder jerks backward at the impact and you curse under your breath. Missed. Furious, you narrow your eyes and snarl. "Take this, fucker."_

_The Corpse lurches at you, growling, just as you pull the trigger. There's a moment of pure, total fear that takes over you as it jumps toward you with its teeth bared. Its foggy eyes are alight with animalistic hunger and this rage and beastial fury is the most alive you've ever seen a Corpse._

_It grabs your ankle and a shout of surprise breaks out of your throat as it tugs. A stunning wave of vertigo sends you spinning and it only gets worse when your head clips the countertop on your way down. While your head is still fuzzy, it grabs your arm and you feel its hot breath on your flesh a split second before it bites._

_The pain is crippling and you can't stop yourself from screaming. You've never felt anything more painful in your entire life as it gnaws through the muscle. The warmth of blood rushes down your arm and the acrid, copper scent is stifling. Your breath is stolen as the Corpse's hands close around your throat. Your head crashes against the floor once and then you snap your eyes open._

_The Corpse's face is a hair's breadth from yours. Its teeth are filled with shredded skin - your skin - and its mouth is stained a deep scarlet with blood - your blood. Its pale skin is gray and sickly and from this close you can see even the faintest veins that are protruding from around the fog-filled eyes. Its breath, filled with the heavy scent of copper blood and decay, is humid and sticky upon your face. You gaze into that face and all you see is death. Your death..._

I choke on the brain, something like nausea churning in my core. Gagging, I lean sideways out of the truck and spit the gray matter out onto the asphalt. It takes me several tries to get all of it out of my mouth and when I finally do I wipe my mouth on the back of my wrist.

That was me. The vicious beast that stole that man's life from him. I can't get the image out of my head, the sight of my face contorted in pure carnal rage. Because in that moment, more than any other moment in my life since I died, I am a _monster_.

I stumble out of the truck and make my way back home. I need to get away from these thoughts, these memories, these truths. I need to feel more like myself and less like that monster. I need Audrey.

Too bad she's gone.


End file.
